A New Hand For a New Century: Queen of Spades
by Obi's Second Cousin
Summary: When a pair of alien terrorists come to Earth to support Moriarty, the Tau'ka High Council sends one of their own Intelligence agents to stop them. Rated T for safety. First in the 'New Hand for a New Century' Trilogy. Set before LXG. COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

Prologue:

_Earth_

_10,000 BC_

_The Nile River Valley_

_A blazing light from the sky turns midnight into midday. The humans of the tiny, primitive village flee in terror from the behemoth hovering above them. That is, all except one._

_The boy, strangely unafraid, approaches, holding up one hand to shield his eyes from the light. The roar of the wind intensifies, and the light takes him._

_The creature from the stars is pleased as he takes the boy as his host. After years of searching, he has found a new body, easy to repair and rejuvenate. He presents himself to the inhabitants of the world he has found, glorying as they bow down to worship him. He is the ruler of this world. He is the Sun God._

_He is Ra._

_Others of his kind followed, for Earth has become a prime place to find new hosts. _

_They take on the names and personalities of gods, each one worshipped by a different group of people. They are many, and they are powerful. The humans of Earth are but slave to them- a source of labor and bodies to inhabit._

_One of these alien overlords- the Goa'uld- is not content with the bodies of the humans she takes. She wants something more, so that she may gain power and prestige among her own race. Her name is Hecate, Greek goddess of mystery, magic, and the night. She selects a group of humans and begins to change them in her search for a superior host. Her creations are stronger than humans, longer lived, immune to the many diseases that afflict humankind. They were faster and hardier. But her creations were given more than that._

_Throughout many years of experiments, Hecate learned how to give her creations powers unlike any seen on Earth before. She called them Tau'ka, or Spirit Humans, in honor of these abilities. Some could see the future. Others could communicate via silent telepathic speech or read minds. A few had control of elements, and others could bend light around them to make themselves invisible. Many could move objects with their thoughts. Three had the power to change their shape, becoming animals. _

_Hecate had designed her Tau'ka to be utterly loyal to her and her alone. She dreamed of using them as her personal guards, her champion warriors, and her hosts. But there were problems._

_One was the low birthrate. The Tau'ka had only small numbers of offspring, and they were not mature until they were between thirty and forty years of age. This trait was not conducive to building an army of superior warriors._

_The second difficulty was entirely unforeseen by Hecate. Her creations were smart. Much smarter than she had intended. It wasn't long before they saw through their "goddess's" sham. About the time of the Great Rebellion on Earth, when the local humans evicted their alien overlords and buried the Stargate, the mysterious device that allowed for near-instantaneous interplanetary travel, the Tau'ka also revolted. One of them, assassin-trained by Hecate herself, stole into the Goa'uld's palace and killed the creator of the Tau'ka race._

_The Tau'ka suddenly found themselves at loose ends. They were free of their overlord, free to make their own way in the galaxy. Full of the memories of the barbaric Goa'uld 'gods', they dedicated themselves to wiping the Goa'uld from the galaxy. While they were not the only ones with this goal, the Tau'ka chose to work alone. They distrusted the rebels among the Goa'uld ranks, the faction calling themselves the Tok'Ra. The Jaffa were no help either- they still fervently worshipped the Goa'uld as the gods who gave them life. And few Tau'ka even considered allying themselves with humans. Among the Tau'ka, the prevailing attitude was that since they were created to be superior to humans, they WERE superior to humans. As it was, humans looked upon their genetically altered brethren as being as alien as the Goa'uld themselves._

_So the Tau'ka worked alone, forming a close-knit society. Their lack of numbers still remained a problem. At length, they discovered that they could successfully interbreed with true humans. The hybrids matured faster than pure-blooded Tau'ka, but did not share their full immunity, lifespan, or power. Indeed, several of the Tau'ka abilities, most notably the power of shapeshifting, only appeared in individuals of pure Tau'ka ancestry. But it was better to sacrifice some purity of blood to stave off extinction._

_The Tau'ka did not forget Earth entirely. Over the centuries, the precognitives among them were beset with visions of their ancient home. They told their leaders that by the dawn of the second millennium AD, the humans of Earth would be a vital and necessary key to bringing down the Goa'uld for good. The leaders of the Tau'ka heeded these warnings, and ensured that at any given time, there were several undercover agents on Earth to prevent events that would keep the humans from reaching their full potential by the appointed time._

_The Tau'ka were not as united as one might think. Like any nation, there were political factions with different beliefs. One of the greatest points of dissension was the attitude towards true humans- were they potential allies, a lesser people to be pitied and guided, or were they so 'inferior' to Tau'ka that they needed to be wiped out entirely?_

_This last view was that of a small, militant faction. The faction was led by a pair of pure-blooded twin brothers known as the Black Hawk brothers, and their followers took their name from their leaders. They fervently believed that they were superior to humans in every way, and took it upon themselves to extinguish the so-called 'lesser' race._

_Fast forward to the year 1898. _

_The end of the nineteenth century fast approaches. Humans on Earth have made huge advances in science and technology, especially after slogging through the centuries known as the Dark Ages._

_With new technologies and advances come new conflicts. Countries are expanding rapidly in the throes of the age of Imperialism. Peoples previously separated from one another by distance and time are starting to clash. Crime is on the rise, organized by some of the most brilliant and deadly masterminds the world has seen. Foremost among the masterminds is a name that will be made famous by the writings of one Dr. Watson: Professor James Moriarty. His web of organized crime has spread throughout Europe, and perhaps beyond. A hero stands against him, and they fall. Undeterred, a new menace rises in his place, to be faced by a team of the extraordinary._

_But what happens when the criminals have help from people from another world?_

Author's Note: 'Queen of Spades' is set directly before 'LXG', but I promise, it will lead right into those events. Please be patient.


	2. I Didn't Ask For a Wakeup Call

Chapter One: I Didn't Ask for a Wake-Up Call

_Agent Noclaf._

Agent Noclaf stirred slightly, not willing to come up from the depths of hard-earned slumber.

_Agent Noclaf._

A vague wave of dismissal and a mumbled "G'way…" responded to the telepathic message. The summoner was not pleased.

_AGENT NOCLAF!!_

Agent Daria Noclaf sat bolt upright in bed, muttering angry curses under her breath.

_What?_ she demanded silently. _Chaos and Fortune, I just got to sleep!_

_The Council wishes to speak with you immediately, Agent Noclaf. Report as soon as you are decent._ With the message delivered, the mind-voice of Torap Cimic vanished from her awareness.

Still muttering angrily about her superiors, the young Tau'ka field agent climbed out of bed to get dressed. It was typical, really, the Council wanting her to drop everything and come running at unholy hours of the night. However, she couldn't think of anything off the top of her head that required her immediate attention so soon- hadn't she just averted the last major disaster?

_With my luck_, she thought grimly, _some other System Lord just got wind of where the base is or something. Figures._ _I hate Mondays._

With a sigh, Daria flicked her finger at the light control. The illumination panels turned on at the telekinetic pressure on the control panel, slowly raising the light level in her room. Like nearly all of her race, she had decent night vision, but the living quarters in the underground Verris base had no windows. She dressed in her basic work clothes- loose, sage-green pants, a cream-colored shirt with short sleeves under a mahogany leather vest, and knee-high boots and arm braces of the same color leather. Glancing in the mirror, she snatched up a brush and began attacking her mop of auburn hair in preparation for tying it back off of her face.

The face that looked out in the mirror was one that, at first and possibly second glances, would be mistaken for that of a human's. That is, until one noticed the cheekbones (high and wide), forehead (rather broad), and large, wide-set eyes that had a tiny upward tilt at the corners. The color of those eyes- translucent grey-green with iridescent flecks of blue, violet, and gold- also marked Daria as being more than a little odd. She was a Tau'ka, one of a race of genetically engineered humans created a long time ago by a Goa'uld System Lord named Hecate.

Daria tied back her hair, dropped the brush on the dresser, and stalked out of her room, wandering the hallways until she reached the Council Wing. Outside the door to this wing was a work station, where another Tau'ka sat, one she recognized as Tarop Cimic, the Council's message relater. He looked up at her, blinked pearly gray eyes, then triggered the door sensor and waved her in. She nodded curtly to the secretary and stepped inside.

In contrast to what Tarop's order had seemed to suggest, the full Council was not in session. In fact, only two of the nine members waited for Daria in the Conference Chamber. They were her direct superiors- Commander Halcon of the Military Branch and Master Agent Felis of Intelligence. Whatever this summons was for, it was clearly only within the fields of these two.

Commander Halcon nodded gravely as Daria saluted. "Have a seat, Noclaf," he said. His eyes, which were a glittering shade of topaz, looked a little haggard.

Daria complied, looking from one to the other. "You had Tarop give me a wake-up call?" she said.

Master Agent Felis nodded. "We have another mission for you, Noclaf." She pushed a small button on the datapad in front of her. Instantly, a three-dimensional image sprang into life above a holographic projection unit set into the center of the table. It showed two men- tall, dark-haired, with piercing peridot eyes. Their nearly identical appearances showed them to be brothers at least, most likely twins.

Daria inhaled sharply. "Black Hawk," she said.

The head of the Tau'ka's Intelligence operations nodded again. "One of our deep-cover agents spotted them on their planet of surveillance. It seems that they are planning something big."

"Where?"

"The Tau'ri homeworld," Halcon answered. The hologram changed to show the image of a blue and green planet, liberally streaked with white clouds and with a single moon in its orbit. "The one called Earth in the old histories."

"What do they want…" Daria began. "Oh, the usual."

The commander of the Tau'ka military nodded gravely. "Chaos, panic, and eventual extermination of human life there. Normally, we wouldn't get involved with their affairs, however…"

"The prophecies." Daria finished for him. All the Tau'ka knew about them- many of their Precognitives had received numbers of detailed and very powerful visions concerning the humans of Earth. The visions showed some of Earth's children being key players in the battle of against the Goa'uld some hundred years or so in the future. Each Precognitive had warned that without Tau'ri help, victory was not only unlikely, but nearly impossible. To that end, the Council had several operatives on Earth, all serving under deep cover to help head off anything that might prevent the humans from reaching their full potential in the century they all had left.

Enter the Black Hawks. They were the leaders of a splinter faction of the Tau'ka who believed they were superior to just about anything else short of the Ancients. Fortunately, their numbers were small, but they were violently militant and spent a great deal of time contemplating how to wipe out the 'lesser species', i.e., humans. They were led by a pair called K'Wah and Koor, twin brothers descended from a line of purebloods dating all the way back to the original Tau'ka created by the System Lord Hecate. Only one individual among the Tau'ka had any reliable track record of thwarting them.

"So you want me to hike over to Earth and stop them." Daria said. It wasn't a question, but her superiors nodded anyway. "What are they up to this time?"

"They are attempting to stir up a world war," Felis said. "My agents have reported that the Hawks have joined forces with a criminal mastermind of some note, one…" She glanced at her data screen. "Professor James Moriarty. We have indications that his operation is based in and around London. You may wish to start there." The Head of Intelligence handed Daria a data disc. "This contains background and contact information so you may get in touch with the agents in the area. I will alert them to your arrival and have one of them arrange a pick-up. You need to leave as soon as possible."

Daria knew a dismissal when she heard it, so she accepted the disc, saluted, and left. She glanced at her chrono on her way out and grimaced.

_I got in five hours ago and they're sending me out again already. I'm glad I took that shower. This is what I get for being Intel's Golden Girl. Gah…_


	3. Are You Going My Way?

AN: Thanks to **Llama Angel** for the review and the clarification. And here is the next chapter.

does happy dance Reviews- yay! Please follow in Llama Angel's footsteps and leave more!

OSCOSCOSCOSCOSC

Daria scanned the main maintenance bay thoughtfully, looking for one individual in particular. She spotted him and clambered up onto the wing of the _udajeet _he was working on, peering over the side.

"How's it going?" she asked.

"Hmm? Ouch!" There was a thump as the man tried to sit up and banged his head on the underside of the wing. Daria shook her head.

"Forgot that you weren't wearing that helmet?"

A few irritated grumbles issued from below, before he managed to work his way out from below the fighter. "Seems like it. When did you get back in?"

"Last night. I've got a favor to ask of you, Vader."

Vader Skywalker, ex-Dark Lord of the Sith, made a face. "No one ever stops by to say 'hello' anymore," he said in a mournful tone. The half-mocking attempt was made more effective by his scarred, grim-looking face, a visible relic of his years on the Dark Side. Daria didn't pretend to know what that was all about- all she knew was that Sith were bad and it was best to stay clear of them on a general basis. Her friend, however, was a special case. After nearly twenty years of serving Emperor Palpatine, Vader's loyalty and devotion to the Dark Side were shattered when he discovered that his master had ordered his son killed. At that point, Daria had been thrown into the mix by what seemed to be a completely random twist of fate. Over the course of several months and battles against Palpatine and his lackeys, the two had formed a rather unique friendship that each now prized very highly.

Vader clambered to his feet and looked up at Daria, who was still perched on the wing of the _udajeet_ starfighter. "What do you need?"

"Can I get a ride?"

He blinked, and frowned suspiciously. "Where?" he asked.

The Tau'ka shrugged off-handedly, pleased that her friend was playing along. "Earth," she said.

"The Council is sending you out _again?_" Vader ran the fingers of his gloved right hand through his cropped tawny hair. "Daria, you just got in! What could possibly need your attention so soon?"

"Glad to see I'm not the only one not happy about it." She swung down from the _udajeet_'s curved wing, landing lightly on the servicing platform. The Council had always been something of a thorn in Vader's side, and they tended to overlook him because he was a full human. In fact, the only reason that they had allowed him to stay with the Tau'ka in the first place was the fact that he could easily overpower most- if not all- members of their race. That grudging half-acceptance had never sat well with him.

He sighed. "Why are they sending you out so soon?" he wanted to know.

Daria made a face. "Black Hawks."

"Ah." Those two words were all Vader needed to hear. He had dealt with the leaders of the militant faction before, and despised them on both professional and personal levels. The tall man nodded. "I can run you over as soon as I'm finished here. When do you leave?"

"Soon as I'm packed and drop in to see Nibor, I'll be ready," she told him.

Vader nodded again and went back to work on the _udajeet_.

OSCOSCOSCOSCOSC

By virtue of necessity, the Trauma Ward of the Verris base's infirmary was located very near the hangar bays, to facilitate the transfer of injured patients. Daria wasted no time in getting there.

The ward was mostly empty now. The cots and benches that lined the wall of the entrance room were unoccupied, the emergency equipment not in use. A single Tau'ka was on-duty, sitting at a table and idly bouncing a small ball against the wall. He looked up as Daria entered, and his intensely blue eyes lit up.

"Catch!"

He flung the ball at her, and her hand whipped out to snatch it from the air.

"Hello, Nibor."

Daria's cousin grinned broadly and held out his hand. She tossed the ball back to him. He caught it and set it down on his desk before standing. "How was your mission?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Got in, blew a few things up, got out. Didn't get enough sleep."

Nibor rolled his eyes. "Pretty much the same here, only with fewer explosions. What are you doing down here so early?"

Daria told him about her new assignment, and the older Tau'ka reacted much the same as Vader had.

"And there isn't anyone else who can take care of the Hawks?" he wanted to know, running his fingers though his short, fire-red hair. "Daria, you know I don't like this."

"You have a grudge against them in general," Daria pointed out. "I just have a bigger one. Besides, I'm the only one who _can_ stop them. I've done it before."

Nibor gave her a penetrating look. "Your ability to do so isn't what concerns me, cousin. Your mental stability does. K'Wah and Koor are-"

"I know who they are," she said shortly. "And I am completely stable."

"Are you certain about that?"

Daria succumbed to the childish temptation and stuck her tongue out at her cousin. He quirked an eyebrow and limped around to the front of his desk. The irregularity of his stride was the result of an injury he had received in his one field assignment nearly six years ago.

"Well, since you insist on going out-"

"Rather, the Council does," Daria corrected.

Nibor made a condescending gesture. "Since the _Council_ insists on having you go out, then it is my responsibility that you come home in one piece."

"I would appreciate doing that," she said wryly.

He handed her a small satchel. "One field kit," he announced. "Put together by yours truly. Contains everything an enterprising Tau'ka spy might need short of major surgical equipment. Bandages, painkillers, even antibiotics in case you have to save someone else's life."

Daria smiled at that last comment. The Tau'ka immune system was designed to be pretty much invulnerable to harmful pathogens and parasites, so they rarely used antibiotic drugs themselves.

"There's also enough water-purification tablets in there to last several years."

"I'm going to be in a civilized area, Nibor," she pointed out.

"Oh, yes, industrialized London," he replied sarcastically. "Conservation is _very_ high in its inhabitants' lists of concerns. Why don't you do a check for toxins on the Thames while you're there?"

The agent rolled her eyes. Nibor had obviously been hacking into the reports from the Earth agents again. Either that or getting someone else to do it for him. "I rather doubt it's as bad as you say."

"I'm just saying that if you get yourself sick, don't come running to me, cousin."

"You know better than I do how resistant to toxins we are."

He folded his arms over his chest stubbornly. "Tau'ka may be resistant to drugs and poisons, but we are _not_ immune. Take the tablets."

"Yes Nibor." Daria snapped the case shut. "Any other helpful hints? Besides 'don't drink the water'?"

"No laudanum. I'm not sure what the effects will be on a pure-blood." Nibor shrugged. "Hybrids seem to be alright with it, somewhat, but just to be safe-"

"Gotcha. No lauda-whatsit."

"Be careful."

"Yes Nibor."

"Don't drive your pilot crazy."

"Yes Nibor."

"Don't blow cover."

"_Yes_ Nibor."

"No wild parties."

"_Nibor!_" Daria cried exasperatedly. Her cousin held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Someone's got to say it."

"I'm going now." Shaking her head ruefully, Daria left the infirmary, clutching the case.

Glossary:

_Udajeet_: "Death Glider"- a small, short-range Goa'uld starfighter with no hyperspace capability. Particularly suited for atmospheric flight.


	4. Hounds, Jackals, and English

Chapter Three: Hounds, Jackals, and the English Language

Author's Note: I'm going to update in the hopes that anyone lurking will take pity on me and leave a review- it's so lonely in here.

OSCOSC

Using hyperspace technology, the flight from Verris to Earth took about five days. Daria spent most of that time listening to a language program. One of the abilities that showed up among the Tau'ka was an ability to learn languages by "pulling" them out of a native speaker's head, rather like the copy-and-paste function on a computer's text program. The process not only brought words and grammar, it brought along untranslatables and shades of meaning that usually couldn't be picked up by the normal means of learning a language. Once copied, the language could be transferred to a sophisticated program that 'downloaded' it into the new speaker's subconscious mind. The end result was that the recipient could speak the language nearly as well as they could their native tongue in a matter of a few days.

This method of learning languages was one of the tools that made the Tau'ka effective spies- in essence, they could teach their agents how to "talk the talk", allowing them to blend in with the lingo of nearly any population and made it easier for them to be accepted by those they needed to deceive.

Daria listened to one of these programs on the flight from Verris to Earth, rapidly cramming as much English into her head as possible in between games of Senet or Hounds and Jackals with Vader. Distracted as she was, he usually ended up beating her handily. On these occasions, he would raise an eyebrow as if asking if she was certain she wanted to play again. For her part, the Tau'ka would flap her hand in a 'go ahead' gesture and set the board for another round.

The five days passed in this manner. Daria developed the annoying habit of slipping unconsciously into English when speaking to Vader. Such lapses were a common side effect of the program and, as Daria didn't realize she was doing it, a sign that the language was taking hold. Unfortunately, the language program couldn't entirely erase her accent, a holdover from over sixty years of speaking mainly Goa'uld or Goa'uld dialects. Looking over the notes that Ferris had provided, Daria knew that her accent would be taken into account- her persona was that of someone raised in Cairo, Egypt and would be easily explained. Even though they were a good sign, the lapses annoyed her companion, who didn't speak English himself.

"Daria!" he growled the twelfth time she did so in the space of three hours. "By the Force, listen to the culture program for a while!"

"Sorry," she muttered. She did as he said, switching to a disc that would describe the various aspects of nineteenth-century English culture.

OSCOSCOSCOSCOSC

"Coming out of hyperspace," Vader announced the next day from the cockpit. "We'll be coming out between the sixth and seventh planets inward and should be entering Earth's atmosphere in about an hour. Are you all ready, Daria?"

"Yes!" she called from the main room as she finished changing into the clothes she would need to fit in on Earth. When she was fully dressed, she opened a travel satchel and pulled out an odd-looking construct of leather and synthetic fiber straps and metal buckles. "At least, I will when I get into this and loaded up."

"Finish packing and then go ahead and shift," Vader called back. "I'll be there in a second to help you with that harness."

The ship shuddered slightly as it returned to realspace. From the outside, it would appear as if the craft had suddenly appeared in a swirling flash of blue and violet light.

Daria set down the harness and stepped into the middle of the room, where there was no gear scattered about the floor. She would need plenty of space to draw on one of the rarest Tau'ka abilities- shapeshifting. The Tau'ka agent let herself relax and performed the peculiar little mental twist that would trigger the transformation.

Seconds later, a large, falcon-like gryphon stood in the main hold, folding her long wings against her back.

As the ship settled into a computer-guided flight towards Earth, Vader walked into the hold.

"Why we can't just set down and let you off normally is anyone's guess," he muttered as he picked up the harness and walked over to Daria's side, completely unfazed by the shape of the giant predator she now wore. "Wings back."

She complied, and shifted to a variety of other positions at his direction as her friend adjusted the various straps and buckles of the carry-harness. Such a rig was a useful piece of equipment, allowing her to carry more than she would normally be able to. The fact that anything she wore or carried shifted with her- unless she willed it otherwise- came in handy as well. As a gryphon, Daria was capable of carrying something the size of an average human. The harness facilitated such maneuvers when they were necessary. For now, though, Vader would just attach her travel satchels to it so she could carry them while in flight.

He did so, clipping them on with the ease of long practice. "Are those settled alright?" he asked, taking a step backwards. Daria shook herself thoroughly and was pleased to note that none of the satchels moved to the point where they might affect her balance.

"All sssettled," she informed him. "Rready to go on yourr marrk."

Vader raised an eyebrow. "You always insist on mangling the language when you're in that shape. I _can_ hear you telepathically." He sighed in mock-exasperation.

An alarm sounded in the cockpit- the one that indicated that the ship was coming up on an atmosphere. Vader went to see to it.

"At least you're flying a _whole_ ship thiss time!" Daria quipped, poking her beaked head into the corridor after her friend. He flapped a hand at her in dismissal.

"Just go and get ready by the airlock. I'm officially kicking you out as soon as we get to a safe altitude."

"How thoughtful of you."

"At least it'll be a _safe_ altitude."

She chirped in the way that was a gryphon's laughter and went to stand by the airlock doorway. Underneath her, the ship bounced a bit as it struck the atmosphere, but Vader's steady hand on the controls negated most of that. As the ship dropped lower into the skies of Earth, it slowed down. By the time she could see the faint lights of an enormous city in the distance, the craft had slowed enough so that she wouldn't kill herself if she left it. They were still hundreds of meters above sea level, but that would pose no problem.

Finally, Vader guided the ship to a halt, hovering it on its repulsorlifts. "Go," he ordered. "These things are touchy if they hover too long. Opening airlock now."

The double-door before Daria opened slowly, allowing the first gust of Earth wind to spiral in. She stepped forward and crouched by the opening, ready to fling herself into the night air.

_And Daria?_ Vader sent her silently.

_Yes?_

_May the Force be with you. I have the feeling you're going to need it._ A sensation like a hand squeezing her shoulder, and then Vader cut off the telepathic link. He had never been one for long goodbyes.

Daria chirped again, and then leaped.


	5. First Impressions

AN: Well, I must say that I feel a little lonely in here with no reviews. I know, nothing is more boring than an author begging for reviews, but I mean, this story has gotten 133 hits and only two reviews. What's up with that, people? I'm not feeling the love here.

sigh

Well, I'm going to update anyway. I would be very happy if you readers out there would return the favor and leave a review. Happy reading, mis amigos.

OSCOSCOSCOSCOSC

She hurtled through the air in a dive that took her a safe distance from the engines of the transport ship. The city was approaching quickly, but she wasn't worried. As an altitude of about one thousand meters, she opened her wings with an audible snap that sent her swooping higher.

Lights lit the city below her, causing it to twinkle with orange and gold sparks as she soared over it. Daria inhaled deeply, feeling the cool night air rush through her feathers. Though a gryphon's sense of smell was poor, even she could pick up the scents of soot, salt air, and the refuse left behind by centuries of human inhabitation. She coughed as one particularly foul gust of air struck her full in the face.

_Maybe I will be needing those tablets Nibor gave me_.

Above her the ship flew away. It performed a particularly complex series of rolling maneuvers- Vader's signature, of sorts- before pulling up and leaving the atmosphere. She grinned at the sight before angling for the city below.

The human city was a large one, larger than most she'd seen. Certainly, there were other human races that had overthrown their Goa'uld overlords and advanced- the egotistical Kelownans came to mind, but this 'London' had a unique quality about it.

Daria flew lower, using her sharp eyes to pick out details below. In most areas, the streets were fairly well-lit by lamps, but the amount of light could vary dramatically from street to street. The lights illuminated a few passers-by, as well as covered carriages of some kind, pulled by large quadruped mammals that she recognized from her studies and travels as horses. The Tau'ka made a mental note to stay well away from those animals while in gryphon-shape. While Terran gryphons were more or less extinct, there were some on other worlds, and they were notorious for their hatred of –and appetite for- horses. Horses the galaxy over seemed to know this, and would panic if they scented gryphon. She went for a little more altitude, not wanting to raise a fuss that might get her noticed.

_Now, where was that rendezvous point?_ she wondered. She hovered, pulling up a mental map of the area she'd done her best to memorize. _It was supposed to be a big tower of some kind…_

About half a kilometer off, the sound of a big bell interrupted her train of thought. Several big bells, actually. She looked for the source of the sound, and spotted an ornate tower with an enormous glowing clock face at the top.

_…with a clock. Look at that. I think I found it._ Daria thought for a moment, trying to remember what the tower was called. She thought it was along the lines of 'Large Bob' or something. _Ah, whatever. Doesn't matter right now anyway._ She soared in a long, graceful turn and headed towards the tower. A minute or two of swift flight brought her to the building, and close inspection revealed a gap between the clock and the housing, with a ledge that made her think it was used for maintenance purposes. Daria landed on the edge, slightly awkward in the relatively narrow space, but managed to catch her balance and work her way inside.

The space within was dimly lit, the only source of light being whatever it was that lit the clock. She stepped forward, ears pricked for any sound, alert for any movement.

A rustling sound caught her attention. She swiveled her head to look at its source- a short, ferrety-looking man with light brown hair and topaz eyes that glittered in the dim light. Daria judged him to be about a century and a half in age, which was just pushing middle age by Tau'ka standards. He was dressed in a plain black suit and jacket.

The man stood. "Special Agent Noclaf, I presume?" he said. His voice was in the middle range, mellow, and his Goa'uld was marked with a clipped accent.

Daria nodded and began to remove the bags hanging from her harness. Freed of the luggage, she shifted back to her own form. Her contact looked her over.

"Strange. I'd have thought that the Council would have sent someone a little older."

"And I thought they would have paired me up with someone a little more subtle in their derision. Seems we were both surprised."

He raised an eyebrow. "You are pert, Agent Noclaf. You may find that that tendency will get you in trouble here. As it is, I am Shadow Agent Terref Nielssan."

Daria nodded. The Shadow Agents were a branch of the Tau'ka espionage forces, ones that specialized in remaining in deep cover for years at a time. They were permanently assigned to a world, living there, becoming experts on the local situations, passing on information to the Council, and acting as guides for the short-term agents that came to their planets for missions. The Shadow Agents couldn't act in situations like the one Daria was going to be facing- they were too valuable and too difficult to put in place to let them risk blowing cover. A Special Agent like Daria would work with a Shadow Agent to help perfect their own cover and to learn the lay of the land. While Daria hadn't heard of Terref specifically, she knew that much of the information she had studied on the way here would have come from him or one of the handful of other Shadow Agents stationed on Earth.

Terref studied her, as if measuring her against an unseen standard. At last he said, "It is very unusual for the Council to allow the shapeshifters into the Intelligence field. Why did they send you?"

"Because when it comes to the Hawks, I'm the best," Daria said bluntly. "We've tried getting a half a dozen other agents in to eliminate them. They died."

"And you?"

"Clearly, I am not dead."

"Are you certain that the Hawks weren't holding back with you because of your, ah, connection with them?"

She glared at the older agent. "I'm certain. They want to kill me as much as I want to see them stopped in one form or another."

"I see." Terref shrugged. "Well, as much as I dislike the idea of sending a pure-blood into something like this, here you are, and we'll be working together for the next few months. For this assignment, you will be playing the role of my niece, recently come to London from Egypt."

Daria nodded. "I read the file. You own a newspaper, do you not?"

"I do indeed." A hint of a proud smile touched his face. "Being able to act as if you were gathering material for the paper should allow you to gather information without being remarked upon. Now, you will stay with me for a week or so until we can perfect your disguise, then I will set you up in a small household of your own. I will coordinate with you, providing background information that you may need." The older agent pulled out a small pocket watch, glanced at it, and nodded to Daria. "We should be going."

He picked up two of the bags she'd brought with her, indicating that she should get the other and precede him down the narrow staircase that led to the lower floors. "As a point of curiosity, what are your powers?"

"Telekinetic, sixth rank; Communications-Telepath, third rank; and Shapeshifter, second rank," she rattled off automatically. The rankings marked her as a very strong shapeshifter, but limited in her forms; as a Telekinetic able to move objects about the size of a small dog; and as being able to communicate with thought-speech over a distance of nearly three kilometers. Com-Pathy and 'Kinesis were about as common as dirt among the Tau'ka, but shapeshifting was extremely rare. It was only found in purebloods, and only in few of those. There were perhaps fifty shapeshifters alive that she could think of.

"Second rank?" Terref commented. "That is strange- I was under the impression that gryphon, having six limbs and being both mammal and bird, was one of the more difficult shapes to take on."

"I would be first rank," she admitted as she carefully maneuvered both herself and her gear down the narrow steps. "But I can't become anything aquatic."

"Oh," he said in realization. "You are a strong Fire personality."

The Tau'ka had a tradition of assigning personality traits to the different elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. Fire and Water were antagonistic to one another, as were Air and Earth, although they were not as strongly opposed to each other as their co-Elements. Personalities that were strong in one element tended to have difficulty with things associated with their opposite- hence, a shapeshifter with a Fire personality would be unlikely to be able to turn into a fish.

Daria shook her head. "I'm more Air than anything else. I'm just…" She gritted her teeth. "I'm afraid of water, alright? If it's not the kind I'm about to drink, or hot and deep enough to immerse myself to the neck in, I can't stand it. I can't swim and I _despise_ rain."

"I see. Then the gryphon shape is easy for you."

"It's my shape of inclination."

They were silent for a moment as they reached the bottom floor of the tower.

"How are you with fog?" Terref asked suddenly. "London gets a great deal of it."

She shrugged. "Fog I can deal with, and snow, too. It's liquid water and I that don't get along. What are your powers, anyway?"

He smiled modestly. "Com-Path fourth rank; Illusionist second rank, and Mind Alterer first rank."

Daria whistled appreciatively. Illusionists could project images into the minds of other people, and a second-ranker like Terref could even put a permanent illusion on other objects. Mind Altering involved being able to wipe memories from targets, and someone of first rank would be able to craft entirely new, detailed memories, practically from scratch, and implant them in a target's mind without the target being any the wiser. Both talents would be extremely useful for a Shadow Agent. "Well, I'm impressed."

Terref led the way out into the cobble-stoned street. They walked for a block or so before he signaled for one of the small horse-pulled carriages to pull over for them.

_A 'hansom', it is called,_ Terref told her mind-to-mind. _A common form of transportation in these parts._

The male Tau'ka and the driver of the hansom piled Daria's packs into the vehicle, then Terref indicated that she should climb in first and get settled. She did so, slightly awkward in the heavy skirts that were the primary feature of her disguise. Inside the two-passenger vehicle, Daria sat, folding her hands in her lap and trying not to sneeze at the smell of the dusty horsehair upholstery. Terref gave the driver an address and climbed in next to her.

_I am known as Terrence Nelson here,_ Terref said. _As you are playing my niece, you will refer to me as 'Uncle' or 'Uncle Terrence'._

Daria nodded. They were silent for the duration of the trip, not even speaking telepathically. She stared out the window, gazing at the first wisps of rising fog as the hansom rattled along the cobbled streets.

At last the hansom pulled up in front of a medium-sized townhouse. " 'Ere we are, Guv'nah," the driver said. He had a thick accent that Daria was hard-pressed to make sense of. The man removed Daria's luggage from the back of the hansom, passed it down to Terref, then tipped his hat as the older agent handed him a few coins. " 'Ave a good evenin', Guv'nah, Miss." He climbed back up to his driver's seat and slapped the reins against his horse's back. The little vehicle clattered off down the street and vanished around the corner, leaving Terref and Daria standing on the walk.

"Very well then," Terref said in English, back in his role as Terrence Nelson. "Let's get you settled, my dear."

Yay. Daria is finally on Earth, so the story can start moving forward. Pleasepleaseplease review! I know you're out there! The little hit count on my Stats page says so!


	6. The Lay of the Land

AN: I'm still faithfully updating. Enjoy.

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Daria was woken in the morning by a young maidservant opening the heavy curtains over the window. The Tau'ka muttered something indistinct and rolled over, trying to get her eyes out of the light. She was seriously jetlagged, and she knew it. At the moment, the last thing she wanted to do was to get out of the nice, warm, comfortable bed.

"Good morning, Miss," the maidservant said cheerfully. Daria cursed silently. And the last thing she needed was someone _perky_ trying to get her out of said comfortable bed. "Master Nelson wishes you to take breakfast with him."

The Tau'ka groaned and buried her head under her pillow. _Terref_, she said to the older agent, _Do the words 'on a COMPLETELY different time schedule' mean anything to you?_

_You're young, _Terref sent back, sounding almost as cheerful as the maidservant. _You can handle it._

"Miss?" the maidservant asked nervously.

"I'm up," Daria replied, reminding herself to speak in English. She looked at the girl who'd been sent to wake her up. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Anna, Miss," the girl said with a curtsy as the Tau'ka clambered out of the high bed. The night had turned damp and chilly at some point- neither condition being one that Daria favored- so of course the room was cold as well. "Do you wish any help, Miss?"

"What?" Daria said blankly. "Oh, uh, no, I don't. Tell Uncle I will be down shortly."

"Yes, Miss." Anna curtsied again and left the room.

Daria waited until she had gone before facing the veritable mountain of clothing people here seemed to think was appropriate for a young lady. Why, there was enough cloth in the outfit to clothe a small family! She wished the tender mercies of Sokarr on whoever had decided that her new get-up would be a good idea. And there was no sense in getting started on the corset. Whoever had invented that torture device would get to languish in their own special circle of a horrible afterlife, if they weren't already. She sighed and began getting dressed.

Terref was waiting for her in the dining room when she came down after managing to figure out her clothes. He nodded in approval as she took her seat. "Very nice, my dear," he said conversationally.

_I informed my staff that you may be "more comfortable speaking the tongue you grew up around",_ he told her. _They are prepared to make allowances for a homesick girl._

Daria nodded. That had been a good idea- now hopefully the servants wouldn't find it amiss that she and Terref would be speaking Goa'uld on occasion. The thing that appealed to her sense of irony was the fact that it wasn't even a lie, just a bit of misdirection. _And misdirection, rather than lies, is often what keeps an agent from becoming very dead._

_Very true,_ he replied. _You may be young, but at least you learned something in basic training. _

"Did you sleep well?" Terref asked aloud as she pretended to ignore the slur on her training.

"Yes," Daria replied. From there they moved into seemingly inconsequential conversation. Subject-wise, it was, but Terref was taking the opportunity to coach his younger colleague in pronunciation and correct minor mistakes in her manner and bearing. Daria paid careful attention, knowing that even innocent mistakes in her demeanor could make life very difficult for her. She wouldn't be able to get her job done if the people she moved amongst thought she was some sort of uneducated country bumpkin. The ability to seem just like one of them was the key to success.

"I've arranged for a dressmaker," Terref said. "She will be coming for fittings this afternoon. And I do not believe your parents told me if you dance?"

Daria covered a flinch. She knew that Terref was speaking in-character, but her parents were a sore subject with her. The elder Tau'ka noticed the hesitation and raised an eyebrow.

_Don't let that happen again,_ he said sharply. _Do you know any of the appropriate dances, or do you not?_

"I know a few, Uncle," she said.

He frowned. " 'A few' is not good enough. You will need to take lessons."

"At least I learn quickly," she replied in Goa'uld. "Now, are you going to pussy-foot around all day, or will you let me know what the situation is?"

One of his eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. "You will need to be more tactful with the people here," he told her in the same language. "English women are not nearly so forward. Or blunt." Then he shrugged. "As long as you moderate your inflections, we will be able to pass this off as a normal conversation. Spoken Egyptian- Goa'uld- is a dead language on Earth. No humans speak it."

She nodded, indicating that he should continue.

"Very well then, Maria," Terref went on, reminding her of her current alias. "The Black Hawks are working with a crime lord called Professor James Moriarty. He is actually less of a criminal than he is a mastermind- he has an entire network of people who work for him. If any major crime is carried out in London, or indeed much of Western Europe, you can probably safely conclude that Moriarty had a hand in it somewhere along the line. Either he planned it, organized it, or ordered it carried out."

Daria nodded, understanding how this sort of thing worked. "A spider in a web," she said.

"Exactly." Terref took a sip of his tea before going on. "A few months ago, I noticed a rise in the crime rate in the area in and around London. Not too long ago there was a fire near a major cargo dock, six bank robberies, and the Royal Museum has been broken into several times."

"Anything stolen from the Museum?"

"Only a few ancient Egyptian artifacts- or more correctly, Goa'uld artifacts. Mostly weaponry or data-storing devices."

"But those can only be used by someone with Naquadaah in their system."

"Correct, Maria. None of the Tau'ri have it within them, so if the objects were stolen with the intent to use them, then it couldn't be one of them behind the robberies. I have heard nothing about any Egyptian, Roman, or Asian cults cropping up, nor of any unusual possessions, so I had to conclude that this was not a case of a rogue Goa'uld."

"And Jaffa never move unless it's on their System Lord's orders. On top of that, Goa'uld don't know the meaning of subtle. They have a rather universal MO and never seem to learn any better." Daria rolled her eyes. "Egotists. You're right- if these attacks and thefts didn't link to anything cultish, then it probably isn't one of them."

"The fact that a witness to one of the Museum robberies described a pair of near-identical individuals with Tau'ka eyes cinched it- the Hawks are on Earth."

"You're sure?"

"I interrogated the witness myself," Terref confirmed. "The description matched that of the Hawks."

Daria sighed. "Alright then, so we have a confirmed Hawks sighting. How do we know they are working with this Moriarty fellow?"

"I was present at one of the Museum thefts. The individual I saw is one known to work exclusively for Moriarty.

She frowned. "That's a little shaky," she pointed out. "Plausible, but a bit of a stretch."

"It fits with the way the Hawks do things," Terref replied calmly. "They have been known to work with underground and criminal organizations before, then turn right around and destroy their so-called 'allies' once their goals have been met. They want to start a world war- Moriarty's organization is one of the best places to start stirring one up. Moriarty has the resources and the intelligence to make countries blame one another for attacks _he_ organizes. The Hawks have ways to motivate him to arrange such attacks. They get him to do the dirty work, while Moriarty thinks he's in charge of things. Then the Hawks get their world war and knocks the Tau'ri out of the running. Without the Tau'ri to complicate things, the Hawks can focus on wiping out the Goa'uld their own way."

"Which will be very messy."

"They think the best way to wipe out the Goa'uld is to deny them their hosts. Think oceans of blood- human, Jaffa, Tau'ka, and Goa'uld, all will be slaughtered if the Hawks have their way. Even then the Goa'uld may not be stopped for long. The humans of Earth _must_ be ready within the next hundred years if the Goa'uld are to be defeated permanently."

"And if they kill each other off now, they won't be ready." She sighed. "I'm going to need everything you have on this Moriarty fellow."

Terref nodded. "There is someone you may be able to speak with, but not for some time yet."

"Who?" Daria wanted to know.

"An amateur detective by the name of Sherlock Holmes," he said. "Holmes has been trying to get Moriarty arrested for nearly two years now. He is the best deductive reasoner I have ever heard of- makes Scotland Yard look like a pack of lazy fools on a regular basis. However, the exact skills that make him valuable to us also make him dangerous- if you aren't spot-on with your disguise, he'll figure it out in about three minutes tops." Terref shrugged. "But he is the only other person that really knows anything about Moriarty and isn't also in Moriarty's inner circle. Holmes would be a good ally to cultivate. Now," he added, switching back to English, "More tea?"

The next week was a solid seven days of intensive training, the likes of which Daria had not endured since she'd been first learning the skills she needed to be an Intelligence agent. Lessons began at breakfast and continued late into the night. Terref coached her in language, customs, and all the funny little rules of English society. Despite his work, however, Daria still spoke English with a faint accent that, while not overpowering, was still distinctly _there_. When she focused on her speech, it more or less vanished, for which they were both thankful.

"You should pass," Terref told her after one particularly difficult session. "As long as you stay away from any phonetists like that Henry Higgins fellow, you'll be all right."

There were other lessons too, lessons in history and the dreaded dancing. Daria was not particularly graceful by nature- having been trained as a warrior rather than a dancer- and constantly had to fight to remind herself to relax. The only thing that made these lessons bearable was the fact that she learned physical activities very quickly- a holdover from her long combat training. Once she had a step or series of steps memorized, she could perform them well enough to satisfy Terref. The elder Tau'ka was an exacting and demanding teacher and was more than willing to work his student until she dropped. Such was the way of a partnership between Shadow and Special Agents.

At the end of the week, Terref pronounced himself satisfied. Daria could now mimic a mid-to-upper class English gentlewoman well enough to fool most people she would encounter, especially if she continued to take supplemental lessons from him. "But we don't have time to put you through anything more," he told her. "We don't know anything more about the Hawks, and we _need_ to know more. We need to get you out into society so you can start working. The sooner, the better."


	7. Forays and Detective Games

AN: Much thanks to Luli27 for the great reviews. For everyone else… waves hand You want to leave reviews. You will push the little purple button at the bottom of the page…

A nice long chapter for you, folks.

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Chapter Six: Forays and Detective Games

A shadowy figure padded down the dark street, footsteps nearly silent on the cobbles. The figure was Daria on a scouting foray, dressed in shirt and leggings of mottled gray, black, and dark brown. She'd learned long ago never to wear solid black to stay hidden in shadows- that only made the wearer a black figure in an _almost_ black shadow, and therefore noticeable. Her mottled camouflage made her nearly invisible when she moved, and when she was still, she was invisible.

This wasn't the first such foray Daria had made in the past few weeks. She'd been going out late nearly every night, learning London's streets and byways. Only one cop had noticed the quiet wraith that slipped through the night, and that man had been easily shaken off. Very few people hunting a supposed thief would think to look for an alley cat, after all.

She came to a corner and froze before turning it. Voices came from the street that intersected hers, as did several steps of running feet.

"Hurry, Watson!"

"Don't let him get away!"

A figure dressed in black hurtled around the corner and slammed into Daria, knocking the Tau'ka to the ground. Without bothering to apologize, the stranger scrambled to his feet and took off again. Daria picked herself up, just in time to be intercepted by another person- a tall, lanky man in a long overcoat, who grabbed her by the shoulder.

"I've got him!" the man shouted to his companions.

She had absolutely no intention of meeting his comrades. Hissing like a cat, Daria simultaneously stomped on her captor's foot and rammed her left elbow back into his gut. When he released her with a yelp of pain, she dropped to a crouch and swept his legs out from under him. He crashed to the ground, landing in an undignified heap in the gutter. Jumping back to her feet, Daria caught a quick glance of the man's face- lean and hawk like, with an impressively beaky nose, contorted into a mask of surprise. She turned and pelted away, dodging down an alley as he stared after her, gasping.

The man's companions- a shorter, stockier man with a bushy mustache and a pair of cops, caught up with him. "Holmes!" the stocky man cried. "Are you alright?"

The man called Holmes scrambled to his feet. "I am perfectly fine, Watson," he assured his friend. "That little blighter caught me unawares. One must wonder where he learned such a trick."

"Which way did he go?" one of the cops demanded.

Holmes indicated the alley. "I saw him go in here."

"That's a dead-end alley, that is," the other cop said. "He'll still be in there."

The four men approached the alley and searched it for any sign of the thief they had been after. To their dismay, there was nothing living in the alley, except for a tabby cat with odd gray-green eyes.

Holmes eyed the cat, which was staring up at him with the oddest look. If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn the animal was laughing at him.

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Daria slipped through the gate surrounding the small garden that lay behind her townhouse an hour later, simultaneously amused and a little off-balanced. That encounter with the lanky Holmes had been a little close for her tastes, but she was still riding the tide of elation that came with a successful escape. Hanging around to watch the humans fumble over her trail had been rather amusing, though.

She looked up at a window on the second floor and gestured. It slid open at her command, allowing a skilled climber access to the room it opened on to, which happened to be her own. How convenient that she was a halfway-decent climber, and that there was a handy tree right by the window.

The Tau'ka scrambled up the tree and slipped inside, her shod feet making no noise on the wooden floor. At this point, she'd figured out where all the squeaky floorboards were and could avoid them in the dark. She slid her window shut and paused, listening for any sounds in the house. There were none- her staff were all still asleep. Satisfied she had not been detected, Daria changed out of her sneak clothes and into a nightgown, then stashed her mottled clothes in a locked chest that she hid under the high bed. Before she went to bed, however, she quickly typed up a brief report on the small computer she'd brought with her, describing her progress. It was annoyingly slow. London was a maze of rules, regulations, and customs, with a hierarchy that she had to work through. Her gender was a liability here- women were not supposed to be involved in the kind of work she did, and rarely got the chance to learn anything useful. This slowed her progress considerably.

Daria sighed as she typed her report. It irritated her that the Hawks were here and she couldn't do anything about them. She had almost reached the point where she was considering sneaking into Scotland Yard and looking for reports on Moriarty and his crime web. But that wouldn't do her any good, if Scotland Yard was as inept as Terref had made them out to be.

That thought made her pause. While Scotland Yard may be mostly useless, there was someone who might be able to help her. Terref had mentioned a detective called Sherlock Holmes who was supposed to know about Moriarty, hadn't he? She briefly recalled the man who had tried to catch her not two hours ago and dismissed the image. Holmes was probably a common name in these parts. She doubted that the two were the same man.

Satisfied, she made a note of her plans in her report, sent it, switched off the computer and stashed it, then climbed into bed.

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Daria went to call on Sherlock Holmes the next morning, but not without taking a few precautions. A disguise, of course, was necessary, and she had a good one. Makeup putty changed the shape of her jaw slightly, making it squarish rather than narrow. A colored powder, brushed into her hair, turned it redder, and hazel contact lenses hid her labradorite eyes admirably. Subtlety would be the key in this little venture. She had no doubts that she would be unable to be recognized should she be seen without her disguise- the change of eye color alone was very helpful in that matter.

She rapped smartly on the door of 221-B Baker Street. A middle-aged woman wearing an apron opened the door and looked her over carefully.

"May I help you?" the woman asked.

Daria wrung her hands, playing the part of a distraught young woman seeking help. "Oh, please, I need to speak to Mister Holmes immediately. It's quite urgent," she said, injecting a bit of anxiety into her voice.

"Mister Holmes is not in," the woman replied.

"Oh dear," Daria, biting her lower lip. "Please, will he be gone long? May I wait for him?" The trick here was to look anxious and nervous, playing up to any motherly sentiments the woman might have, but without seeming panicked or hysterical. "I really need to talk to him."

The woman- probably a housekeeper or the owner of the house- frowned. "I suppose so," she said. "He should be back fairly soon, but who knows with him? Come in, then, child."

Daria was led into a sitting-room that had to be the most interesting place she'd been in weeks, including that pub by the docks she'd scouted out last week. It seemed to be half parlor and half laboratory and workroom. Bookshelves were crammed full of encyclopedias, files, and listings, and an extensive chemistry set was set up on a table. Papers were scattered all over the place, some in a neat, legible scribble and some in an entirely unreadable scrawl. A scent of tobacco hung in the air, which prompted her to wrinkle her nose in distaste. She turned to look at the other half of the room and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Queen Victoria's initials on the wall, traced out in…

_Are those bullet holes?_

"Mister Holmes did those a while back," the housekeeper said from behind her. "Scared my other tenants half to death, he did. I brought you some tea, Miss…?"

"Nelson," Daria said, accepting the tea tray. "Maria Nelson. I can wait here?"

"Yes," she replied. "Ring if you need anything." The housekeeper left, leaving Daria alone.

The Tau'ka returned to her inspection of the detective's home. Bachelor quarters, she knew immediately. If Holmes had a wife, the lady would never have allowed the front parlor to be such a mess.

_Kind of reminds me of MY quarters_,_ actually_, Daria thought. There was evidence that Holmes lived with one other person at least part of the time, however- she could see that two of the chairs were worn in very particular ways, as if two men each claimed one as their favorite. That also explained the two different sets of handwriting on the papers. A look at said papers showed her that the tidy handwriting belonged to the chemist, while the writing on the nearly illegible ones was mainly concerned with the exploits of Sherlock Holmes, as recorded by one Dr. Watson. She concluded that the chemist was Holmes himself, and Dr. Watson was his roommate.

She paused by a stand containing several pieces of sheet music. _Wonder which is the violin player?_ she thought, looking at the title on the music. The stand was set up by one of three closed doors that led off from the front room. She looked at the doors, considering for a moment, then chose to stay out front, knowing that she shouldn't push her luck. She didn't want that housekeeper getting suspicious.

The Tau'ka returned to the bookshelves. Encyclopedias did make up most of their contents, but they were heavily intermixed with files and listings. _Everything he needs to know is right here_, she realized. _Very useful._ She picked out one of the heavy books, took it to a chair, and settled herself down to start reading it. She found it a difficult read in and of itself, and her unfamiliarity with the written English language hampered her efforts further. Daria knew enough of it to get by, but the volume she'd picked out was one full of unfamiliar technical terms.

Daria struggled with the encyclopedia as a way to pass the time, and her patience was rewarded nearly an hour after her arrival. Footsteps in the outside hall caught her attention, as did the arrival of male voices. She set the encyclopedia aside and stood next to the chair she'd claimed.

The door opened and two men entered. One was short, stocky, and had a bushy mustache, while his companion was very tall and lanky, with a birdlike profile. Daria forcibly hid her surprise as she recognized the man from the previous night's scouting foray- apparently Holmes wasn't such a common surname after all. She silently berated herself for dismissing the possible connection.

Holmes looked her over critically. "And how might I help you, young lady?" he asked.

Daria bobbed a curtsy. "My name is Maria Nelson. I had heard that you are a great investigator, and I do need your help."

"I see." Holmes waved her back to the chair. "Please sit down, Miss Nelson. This is my associate, Dr. Watson. You may speak in to him as you would to me."

The doctor nodded as he and Holmes sat. "Go on, Miss Nelson," he said pleasantly.

Daria was struck by the two men and how different they were. While Dr. Watson seemed warm and friendly enough, Holmes came across as a cold, calculating creature of logic, sharp as the edge of a blade. He reminded her of Master Agent Felis in that respect- both he and the Head of Intelligence had that air of a predator about them, a predator that hunted information as their prey. She would have to step carefully around this human.

"Well," she said, "It's about my brothers, you see. I'm afraid they're in great trouble, or will be soon." Over the past several hours, Daria had worked up a cover story that should let her get the information she needed. "They're twins, older than I am by a few years. They used to work with my uncle at his newspaper."

"I see," Holmes said, his face devoid of any emotion. "Your uncle would be Terrence Nelson of the _East End Intelligence,_ am I right?"

Daria nodded, her estimation of Holmes rising a few points. Terref did indeed own the _East End Intelligence_. "Yes. I do some secretary work for him. Have you heard of the recent break-ins at the Royal Museum?"

The detective arched one eyebrow. "Of course I have," he said simply. "I determined that they were a part of Professor Moriarty's work."

She cast her gaze down at her hands, which she had folded in her lap. "That's part of the problem, sir. My father is an archaeologist working down in Egypt- that's why my brothers and I were sent to live with our uncle. A few of the items in the Museum's Egyptian collection were discovered by him. They were all among the items that were stolen. My brothers have fallen into bad company in recent years and I fear that they may have joined up with this Professor Moriarty." _There,_ she thought, satisfied. _Simple, plausible, and not so complex it can't be believed. There's even a Shadow Agent down in Cairo at the moment who is an archaeologist in contact with Terref who can vouch for me._

"And you wish me to investigate whether this is true, and whether they were responsible for the theft of your father's donations." Holmes said it in such a way that it seemed a statement rather than a request.

"I would like to know everything you could tell me about the Professor's organization," she replied. Both men started in surprise.

"Miss Nelson, I don't believe that's wise," Watson said, frowning. "My dear girl-"

"I just need to know what to look for," Daria said. "My uncle and father, they're not very strong, and they absolutely adore my brothers. Either one would collapse if they thought the twins were acting in concert with-" she swallowed hard, playing the part of the properly bred female, who of course was supposed to be sheltered from anything like this, "-with _criminals_. I want to find out if they are in trouble myself. If I brought in someone like you, Mister Holmes, well…I don't want them getting involved if I can prevent it."

"I see, Miss Nelson," Holmes said meditatively. "You want to do your own detective work."

"Yes, Mister Holmes."

"Holmes!" Watson cried exasperatedly. "You cannot possibly be considering letting this poor girl do what she is proposing!" He looked at Daria. "My dear, Homes is very discreet with what he does. Let him investigate."

"My brothers would be alerted if I brought anyone in, Dr. Watson." Daria said. "If they are up to something wrong, I have to find out before my uncle does."

"Are you certain that your brothers may be working for Moriarty?" Holmes asked.

The Tau'ka glanced down shyly. "Yes, sir. I went with one of the reporters to cover one of the Museum thefts and spoke to the man who witnessed it. He described the twins perfectly. If the thefts are the Professor's work, then I have to conclude that they were working on his orders."

"A good deduction, Miss Nelson."

"Holmes, really!"

Daria bit back a smile. It sounded as if she nearly had the detective convinced. The taller man turned to his friend.

"Miss Nelson seems to be capable of pulling this off, Watson," he said. "While the conclusion she made was a simple one, it was solid. If she can do that, I believe she may indeed be able to determine the truth of the matter. As long as you are careful," he added sharply to her. She nodded eagerly. "Very well then, Miss Nelson. I'll have Mrs. Hudson bring us some tea and I'll tell you what you wish to know."

"Oh, thank you, Mister Holmes!" Daria cried delightedly, clapping her hands together.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, brought in more tea and then Holmes settled down to tell all about the operations of Professor James Moriarty. He spoke for nearly an hour, detailing what he knew about Moriarty's past exploits and describing his web of crime. The details he gave her weren't enormously in-depth, but Daria was willing to give him that- for now. She had seen the file marked 'Moriarty' on the shelves.

When Daria left, Holmes sat back in his favorite chair. He saw the scathing look Watson was giving him. "You are wanting to know why I told her all of that," he said mildly.

"Well, _yes!_" the doctor exploded. "Holmes, you must be mad. Sending a girl to do your job? It's unthinkable! She's a secretary, for Heaven's sake!"

The detective shook his head. "Miss Nelson- if that is indeed her real name- is anything but a secretary. She is a spy."

Watson gaped at him, flabbergasted. "A _spy?_" he spluttered. "What are you saying?"

Holmes smiled slightly. "Of course she is a spy, Watson. Even you should have seen that she did not have the ink stains on her hands or sleeves that would come with doing secretary work, nor did she have the shiny patches on the elbows and wrists of her dress that would come from long hours of resting her arms upon a desk."

The doctor blinked. "I can't say I say that, Holmes," he admitted. "But, a spy?"

"I shall provide you with the list. Firstly, her hair is colored- there was a small amount of red dust on her shoulder. I imaging that she used that powder to tint her hair."

"That could have been street dust."

Holmes shook his head. "She was nowhere near a location with red dust- the dust on her shoes and hem was dark gray. Secondly, she chose to sit in the single chair in this room that would let her watch every single exit and entrance. Such positioning is a sign of someone who has to watch out for herself- a criminal or a spy would fit into this category. Not only that , but she watched all the entrances. She wanted to be sure that she could run if she had to."

"So she could either be a thief or a spy. You still haven't said who you knew she was the agent."

"I am coming to that, Watson." He sipped his tea calmly. "There were three other factors that gave Miss Nelson away. Did you happen to notice her hands at all?"

Watson shook his head, causing Holmes to sigh in disappointment. "Really, I thought you would have learned by now. A person's hands are perhaps the best way to determine what a person does for a living. Miss Nelson had callused hands, very unusual in a lady. I believe she does a fair amount of fencing or other swordplay. In addition, when we came in she had been reading last year's encyclopedia- it's still on the table over there. Now tell me of a petty thief who would be interested in reading _that_, my friend. And lastly, her accent."

"An accent is innocent enough."

"Perhaps on its own, Watson, but she was trying to hide it. English is not her first language- her occasional mangling of syntax proved that, although she must have had an excellent teacher. I believe I would place her first language as being one from northern Africa."

"From Egypt, perhaps."

"That is very likely. I would conclude that a fair part of her story has at least some basis in truth just to throw us off. Now, can you name any profession where an educated, sword-trained, foreign female would have to be on constant alert and in situations where she would have to be able to disguise herself and weave a convincing story? Watson, she is indeed a spy."

Watson looked troubled. "But who is she spying for?"

"I can't say for certain, not yet. However, we cannot rule out the possibility that Moriarty himself sent her to find out what I know about him."

His friend looked shocked. "And you told her everything!"

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Of course I didn't. Most of what I told her was older information- practically useless, but it would provide Miss Nelson with what she claimed she wanted to know. And if I failed to tell her anything, Moriarty would have known I'd seen through his game. No, my friend, I did exactly what I had to do. I rather doubt we'll be hearing from Miss Maria Nelson again in the near future." He stood, walked over to his music stand, and picked up his violin. "Now, do you have any requests, Watson?"


	8. Owls, Files, and Messages

Thanks to **Donkey and Skunk** and **Luli27** for the reviews. Happy authors are posting authors.

My apologies for any formating problems. I'm new here.

OSCOSCOSCOSC

Chapter Seven: Owls, Files, and Messages

"Maria?" Terref said with a frown as she walked into his sitting-room that afternoon. "What are you doing here?"

Daria rubbed her jaw. The putty she'd used as part of her disguise always made her face itch after she took it off. Nibor had told her that was a common side effect and nothing to worry about, but it was still annoying. "I spoke with that gentleman you told me about, Uncle," she replied. Switching to Goa'uld, she told him about her visit to Holmes and related the information he had given to her.

"Good work," Terref told her after she'd reported. "I'll try to get in contact with our Egyptian agent and pass on the story you used."

"I got the impression that he was editing what he told me quite heavily," she said. "I don't know if he would have been more frank if Watson hadn't been there."

"Probably not," Terref agreed. "This information is older, but it's a great deal more than we've previously had on Moriarty."

"Old data is still good if we can use it to figure out Moriarty's methods. And if we figure out Moriarty, we figure out the Hawks."

He nodded. "Learn anything else?"

"Holmes is very sharp," Daria said. "Almost too sharp for a human. I'm not entirely certain I fooled him. However, he is well organized with his information- he has dozens of files relating to every case he's worked on and every person of interest this side of the Ural Mountains, and then some."

"Anything on Moriarty?"

She nodded, raiding her hand and holding her thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. "He's got a file on the man that's this thick."

Terref thought for a moment, absent-mindedly stroking the short goatee he'd chosen to grow over the past two weeks. "Get a hold of that file," he said at last. "There may be something about the Hawks in there. How you get it is up to you, but you_ must _get it I'll start tapping my contacts."

She nodded again, and their conversation went back to English and innocent, mundane topics.

OSCOSCOSCOSCOSC

A pharaoh eagle-owl perched on the roof of the building directly across from 221-B Baker Street. It was a fairly large specimen, its tawny feathers streaked across the back, wings, and throat with sable.

Perhaps it was a good thing that there were no ornithologists nearby looking at the owl, for they would wonder what a North African bird was doing in England. The bird waited patiently, its large eyes fixed on the window of 221-B Baker Street. The lights there had finally gone out thirty minutes ago, leaving the rooms dark.

It was long past midnight before the owl moved, spreading its four-four wings to their greatest extent and gliding, whisper-quiet, towards the window it had been watching. An onlooker would have been surprised to see the way the glass opened of its own accord, letting the large bird swoop inside. He or she would have been even more surprised to see the owl's form shift and grow, to become a human figure dressed in dark, mottled clothing.

Daria listened for a moment, waiting to see if the soft thump of her landing had been heard. But all seemed quiet, to her relief. She padded across the room to the shelf where she'd seen the file that afternoon.

There it was- her sharp eyes picked out the name "Moriarty" written on the side in black ink. The Tau'ka smiled and stuffed it into her shirt for the time being. She turned to leave.

The faint rustle of cloth and the creak of a floorboard reached her ears as she approached the window. Someone was awake and moving around in one of the back bedrooms.

_Of all the times for Holmes to want a midnight snack!_

As swiftly as she could, she turned herself back into the pharaoh eagle-owl and flew out the window, causing the drapes to ruffle and billow as she passed through them on her way to the night sky. She silently thanked the pressures of evolution that caused owls to develop their soft-feathered wings.

Holmes, in his dressing-gown, frowned as he saw the open window. Cautiously, the detective sidled over to it and closed it, listening hard for any movement. There was no movement in his home, and the only sign of life outside at the moment was the large owl flying across the crescent moon. He frowned, shrugged, and turned back to his room.

A pale gold, downy feather on the floor caught his eye. He picked it up and examined it carefully, noting the soft, fringed edges of it. An owl feather? What was an owl feather doing in his sitting-room?

OSCOSCOSCOSC

"Excellent work, Maria," Terref said the next afternoon. Daria had joined him for a private tea and had presented the older agent with the thick stack of papers she'd borrowed. He flipped through them, skimming the information they contained. "I have equipment that can scan these so you can return them before they are noticed missing. How did you get in there, by the way?"

"Owl shape," she replied in between bites of sandwich. "Flew right in."

"Ah," Terref said. The older Tau'ka frowned. "Where have you seen owls, Daria? I thought they were native to Earth."

"Some species were exported under the Goa'uld rule," she told him. "I saw some on Cs'tanya a few years ago.

"I see." He pulled a sheet of paper out of the stack and studied it closely. "It appears that Holmes was aware of the Museum thefts- there's a description of the Hawks here. "Two men, identical in every way barring the fact that one was larger than his twin, both with dark hair and green eyes that had the peculiar quality of being able to reflect the light like cut gemstones"."

"That's them, alright." Daria's jaw was set, her mouth a thin, grim line. Terref noticed.

"My dear, I feel that you may be too personally involved in this," he said quietly.

"I am not," she growled, "too involved. I just want them taken out. I'm getting sick of dealing with those two."

He didn't seem convinced. "If you are angry with them because they killed-"

"I know who they killed!" the younger agent snapped, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Being too hotheaded could compromise this mission," Terref said. "We cannot afford that."

"It won't be a problem." She forced herself to take a deep breath. "I want K'Wah and Koor removed from a position where they can cause that kind of harm. I wouldn't mind seeing one or both of them torn to shreds, for that matter. However," she said, holding up a hand to stall Terref's interruption, "I won't let a need for revenge ruin the mission. That's more important at this point."

Terref nodded and switched from Goa'uld to English. "Very well, then. I'm going into the paper tomorrow. If you would care to stop by, Maria, I'll have some files for you to take care of."

"Yes, Uncle Terrence."

OSCOSCOSCOSCOSC

Daria reclaimed the Moriarty file the next afternoon with little difficulty, unless one counted nearly getting run over by a pair of cabs that hurtled down the street as fast as the horses could pull them. She caught a glimpse of the passenger in the second vehicle as it flashed by and recognized the face of Dr. Watson. A few moments later, Watson's cab tried to negotiate a sharp turn too quickly and spilled over. The first one, still going at a breakneck pace, had managed the turn as vanished from sight as a crowd convened on the wrecked vehicle.

Daria paused by the crash site just long enough to determine that both Watson and the disreputable-looking driver would be alright before hurrying on to the headquarters of the _East End Intelligence_.

"Master Nelson?" an ink-streaked clerk said when she inquired as to her contact's whereabouts. "I dunno, Miss, 'e 'asn't been in today. O'Reilly!" he called to another man walking through the office, carrying a stack of papers. "Seen Master Nelson today? The girl 'ere is looking for 'im."

O'Reilly shook his head. "I'm afraid I haven't seen him," he said. "Are you his niece, then?" When Daria nodded, the red-bearded man jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Terref's desk. "He was in last night and said you might be in today, lass. He left an envelope over there for you."

She thanked him and collected the thick manila envelope from its place on top of the desk. Looking inside it, she extracted a piece of paper. The characters on it were in Terref's neat, precise hand, but they were Demotic Goa'uld rather than Roman. She read the message.

Noclaf,

Return the file to the place it came from- I have copied the pertinent information already and sent it to your datapad. I will be out of touch for the next few weeks or so- I heard a rumor that may be deadly if it pans out. Fair skies and clear shots to you.

TN.

Having read the letter, Daria crumpled the sheet into a ball and stuffed it into her pocket, making a mental note to destroy the message when she got back to her townhouse. She left after telling Terref's secretary that would not be in for some time.

Strolling along the cobbled street, Daria pondered what Terref could be after. There was very little that would prompt a Shadow Agent into direct action, after all, so whatever it was must be serious She doubted that it was something to do with her own mission- if it was, he would have let her know about it in full.

OSCOSCOSCOSCOSC

Inclement weather kept Daria indoors for the next week. Rain- buckets of it- poured down on London for seven days straight. The Tau'ka kept to her townhouse, burying her nose in any book or newspaper that came to hand in an effort to improve her reading skills. Even those proved tiresome after a while- the only thing that caught her eye on the sixth day of her imprisonment was a small obituary describing the presumed suicide of a 'Dr. H. Jekyll'.

Not only did the rain prevent Daria from further out-of-doors excursions, it made her testier than usual. She had been unable to either get word of any of the Hawks' doings or return the file on Moriarty she'd 'borrowed'. That was what really grated on her- Holmes surely must have missed it by now. But with the rain pouring down, there was no way she could fly to Baker Street to return it, and walking there would mean that she would leave traces of mud behind her.

Terref sent no word either. She tried to contact him nearly every hour, but he was outside of her telepathic range and refused to answer messages sent over the computer. Stressed by the lack of word and her inability to cover her tracks, Daria was in a very poor mood. The four household servants quickly learned to avoid any room the Tau'ka was in, for fear of provoking her into doing something she would regret later. The Tau'ka were noted for having fairly short tempers, and while Daria was a bit more level-headed than most of her people, everyone had a breaking point. She was rapidly approaching hers.

"I don't dare go in when the mistress is in a room," she overheard one of the maids, a brown-eyed, brown haired girl named Danielle say to the cook. "She's always pacing around, she is, looks ready to tear something to bits."

Ana Lee, the household cook, nodded. "Miss Maria doesn't come down here much, and a good thing, too. She'd scare off the help. Remember that china ornament she broke this morning?"

Daria grimaced upon overhearing that. Upon rising that morning to see the seventh straight day of rain, she'd lost a bit of control. Her telekinetic powers had inadvertently taken up residence in a little porcelain figure and shattered it. She'd been forced to say that she'd thrown it in a temper when Danielle came in to clean it up. Now she had the entire staff terrified, something she had not wanted to happen. She cleared her throat.

Ana Lee and Danielle whirled to see her standing in the doorframe leading to the kitchen. The two women looked afraid, and Daria promptly altered her stance to look as unthreatening as possible.

"I overheard you," she said calmly. As her servants began babbling over one another in apology, she held up a hand. The frantic chatter died off. "I am sorry for being in such a foul mood- you may have noticed that I like to spend a great deal of time out of doors, and this incessant rain has prevented that."

"We had noticed that, begging your pardon, Miss," Ana Lee said shyly.

Daria smiled gently. Ana Lee had started making jokes again. The Tau'ka knew that was a good sign. "If I have inadvertently frightened any of you, I wish that you would accept my apologies. I'll arrange for everyone to get an extra shilling in their wages and a day off for putting up with me." She laughed. "If the rain keeps up, I'll have to nominate every one of you for sainthood!" The two women laughed as well, thanking her shyly for her generosity. "Really, thanks aren't necessary. I do try not to be a tyrant, after all."

The rain finally let up the next day, and Daria gleefully returned to her work. Seeking the haven of the half-manicured trees in Hyde Park after her morning rounds, she took raptor form and went soaring over London to work on her mental map of the city, delighting in the rush of wind and the freedom of flight. She would have preferred her shape of inclination, that of the gryphon, but there were too many people who might see and wonder at the sight of a mythical beast flying overhead. An eagle, while still somewhat remarkable, wouldn't cause panic.

_Back outdoors and working at last. Much better._


	9. The Truth, Sort Of

AN: Continued thanks to **Luli27 **and **Donkey and Skunk** for the reviews. Updates only come when the reviews do.

Sorry, it's kind of a short chapter.

OSCOSCOSCOSC

Chapter Eight: The Truth- Sort Of

Once again, a pharaoh eagle-owl swooped in the open front window of 221-B Baker Street and resumed a humanoid shape. Daria strode quietly across the dark room and slipped the Moriarty file back onto the shelf. As she turned to leave again, a floorboard squeaked under her foot. She froze, listening hard, but heard nothing.

Until she sensed a 'dead' patch behind her, one that blocked out any ambient sound, and heard a very authoritative _click_.

Daria bit back a mental curse and glanced out of the corner of her left eye, only now noticing that one of the doors to the back rooms had been left open. Someone would have been able to slip out of the room and up behind her while she'd been putting the file away.

Someone had.

"Care to explain yourself?" Holmes said conversationally. "Watson, you may come out now. And if you would be so kind as to turn on a light or two?"

_Busted_.

"I was returning, not stealing," Daria growled, deliberately forgoing every lesson on the pronunciation of the English language Terref had ever given her. The result was the return of her accent with a vengeance, putting sharp emphasis on any guttural or sharp syllables.

"Returning what you stole last week," Holmes corrected as Watson slipped out of the back room and began turning up the lamps. "Now, if you would be so kind as to sit, Miss Nelson?"

"Miss Nelson?" Watson repeated, sounding amazed. "Are you sure?"

Daria turned carefully, holding her hands a little away from her sides to show Holmes they were empty. "This doesn't concern you," she told them. The way Holmes had announced her 'identity' had her a bit off-balance. The man was smart.

Holmes raised an eyebrow, not lowering the pistol he held aimed at her. "Really?" he said, not sounding convinced. "Please, enlighten us."

"I'm surprised that you haven't figured it out yourself, Mister Holmes," she retorted, deliberately ignoring the danger she was in.

Holmes glanced briefly at his friend. "This is Miss Nelson," he said to him. "You will note the way she walks- exactly as she did when she consulted me last week. While she has forgone her disguise, there is no doubt that this girl and Miss Nelson are one and the same."

Daria nodded slowly, making a snap decision and hoping she wouldn't get grilled too badly later for it. "Well spotted, sir," she said approvingly. "I'm impressed. I am Miss Nelson."

"Not your real name, I would imagine."

"Of course not, but it will do. You can put the pistol away- I won't run." _Yet_, she added silently.

The detective waved her to a seat and put the gun on the table out of reach. "You are a spy," he said. "Working for Professor Moriarty."

She shook her head. "Not entirely correct. I am indeed an agent, but you are not my target, and I do not work for Moriarty." She would tell the truth- part of it, anyway, since her cover seemed to be well-blown as it was. If she could get Holmes actively on her side, then her task would be easier indeed.

"Oh?" Watson put in. "Then if you aren't after Holmes, who is your target?"

"The men I told you were my brothers," she replied. "They are terrorists known as the Black Hawks, and they recently joined forces with Moriarty, if my sources are correct. That's why I wanted to know about the organization."

"So you stole my file."

"I borrowed it," she corrected. "You didn't tell me what I needed to know, so I took a little initiative."

Holmes and Watson looked at one another. Her story seemed to have taken detective and doctor by surprise, at least a little.

"Who are you working for, Miss Nelson?" Watson asked.

"Can't tell you that."

Holmes rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don't believe I've heard anything about a pair called the Black Hawks," he said thoughtfully.

"Not by that name," Daria agreed. "They were the ones behind the Museum thefts- there's a note in the file that describes them."

"The ones with the green eyes?"

She nodded. "That's them. I believe their eventual goal will be to initiate mass wars across the globe."

The two men shared another look, Watson's face fearful, Holmes's grave. "Tell me, Miss Nelson," the detective said. "Are you working against England?"

She looked him dead in the eye. "No. I'm working to keep civilization as we know it intact."

"Very well."

Daria started. Holmes had sounded like he was on the verge of agreeing with her. "Very well what?" she asked warily.

"I can help you track down these Hawks of yours, Miss Nelson."

She stared at him. "Seriously?"

He nodded as Watson gaped at his friend. "I am dedicated to wiping out Professor Moriarty and his underground web. The Black Hawks have become a part of that web, so I must ensure they are stopped as wall. On one condition."

"What is that?"

"Stop breaking into my rooms and kindly use the front door."


	10. Museum Robberies

AN: At long last, some actual action! Thanks **Skunk and Hedgehog** for reviewing!

OSCOSCOSC

Chapter Nine: Museum Robberies

"Excuse me, Miss?"

Daria glanced up from the map she was going over when Danielle spoke. "Yes?"

"There's a pair of gentlemen here to see you, Miss," the maidservant said. "They're waiting downstairs."

"Send them up, then."

Danielle curtsied and left the room. The Tau'ka bent back over her work, making an occasional note on the map as she studied it, or cross-referencing something with the thick stack of papers next to the map.

The door opened again, and she heard footsteps.

"Tek-ma-tek, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson," she said automatically without looking up from her work.

"Pardon?" That was Watson's voice.

Daria looked up, confused. "What?"

"What was it that you said, Miss Nelson?" Homes clarified.

She frowned. "Oh, 'Tek-ma-tek'. It's a greeting." She mentally kicked herself. No need to make the detective any more suspicious than he already was by speaking Goa'uld. "It means 'friends well met'."

"I see," Holmes replied, looking bemused. "I would surmise that it is part of your native tongue."

The Tau'ka nodded. "Please, sit," she told the two men. "How might I be of service?"

"Actually, we came thinking we may be of service to you."

Daria raised an eyebrow, nodding for the detective to continue.

"There will be another Museum robbery tonight."

The other eyebrow shot up. "How did you find out?"

Holmes smiled. "I deduced it, naturally. The attacks always take place three weeks apart. It has been twenty days since the last one. Of course, it follows that another will take place tonight."

Daria nodded. "The Hawks tend to go with one strategy until someone makes it unusable. Good work, Mr. Holmes."

"Have you looked over the lists of stolen artifacts?"

"Of course I have."

"Have you noticed any connection between what was taken?"

The Tau'ka sorted through her papers and pulled out a sheet with a list written on it. "Everything taken was dated from the Middle Kingdom, or older." She tapped the list with a fingertip, turning the information it contained over in her mind. The Goa'uld had only ruled on Earth until the end of the Middle Kingdom, in fact, their removal had triggered the beginning of the fully-human New Kingdom. She glanced at the list again. Terref had been right- just about everything on the list could be used as a weapon. "It's all very dangerous," she told the detective. "The ancient Egyptians were pretty advanced when it came to weaponry." That was the best she was going to be able to do as far as warning her comrades about the deadly nature of the stolen artifacts.

Holmes handed her another stack of paper. "This is a list of the Museum's entire Egyptian collection," he said as she scanned it. "Can you pinpoint what they might go after tonight?"

Daria studied the list carefully. Then something occurred to her. "Are you going to try and set a trap for the Hawks?" she asked suspiciously.

Holmes and Watson glanced at one another. "Well, of course," Holmes said. "The entire point of this operation is to catch your Hawks, is it not?"

"You aren't setting a trap without me," Daria said flatly. "And that is final." She was not about to let them do that. The Hawks would make mincemeat out of these two if they tried.

"Please, Miss Nelson, be reasonable," Watson said.

"I am being reasonable," she replied. "The Black Hawks would kill you both."

"And they wouldn't kill you?" Holmes inquired mildly.

"They could try." She looked from Holmes to Watson and back. "You know I'm combat trained, Mr. Holmes," she said. "What you probably don't know is that I am fully capable of breaking a man's neck if I'm so inclined. That's the kind of fighting I know- the kind of fighting the Hawks know. Neither of you would stand a chance."

They were staring at her, she realized. Holmes only looking a little bit less startled than his friend. Despite that, she spitted both of them with a fierce glare that would allow for no arguments.

The detective sighed. "Very well, Miss Nelson."

Watson spluttered indignantly but was silenced by a look from his friend. Daria watched the two of them for a moment, then went back to her list. Picking up a pen, she circled two items. "Based on what they've already gone after, I'd say they will try to take one of these tonight."

Holmes looked at the two items she had circled and nodded. "We can set a guard on these. I'll take the position by Abydonan sculpture, and Watson can stand watch with you at the ceremonial staffs."

"Actually, I think Dr. Watson needs to be with you, Mr. Holmes," she replied. "I work better alone." She would do anything she could to increase Holmes's and Watson's odds of survival, and that meant not allowing them to stand guard on their own. The detective sighed, seeming a little bit irritated at her constant meddling, but he nodded. Daria briefly wondered what the detective knew, or suspected, about her and this entire situation.

"We need to be in position tonight by ten-thirty," Holmes said. The Tau'ka nodded.

"I thank you for your help, Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson." The detective waved a hand dismissively.

"Not at all. It's merely an interesting puzzle."

If he really knew what was going on, Daria thought, he wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it. He doesn't realize his entire planet is at stake in this.

"Tonight, then." she said.

"Tonight."

OSCOSCOSCOSCOSC

The Royal Museum had a truly impressive Egyptian collection, Daria saw as she slipped through its darkened corridors late that night. Holmes and Watson stood waiting for her next to a display of an ornate sarcophagus. Daria glanced at the inscription on it, pleased to see that it was an actual coffin rather than one of the restorative devices so favored by the Goa'uld.

"Miss Nelson, I presume?" Holmes asked as she approached. The question was not unreasonable, dressed as she was in her dark sneak clothes. She nodded, settling the strap of her sheathed broadsword more comfortably across her shoulder. The weapon was a fair-sized one, although a bit too heavy for her taste. Watson looked at the blade and nodded to Holmes.

"You were correct, as usual," he said. At Daria's questioning look he explained, "Holmes predicted that you were trained with a sword, Miss Nelson."

'And of course I was right, Watson," the detective replied. "With those calluses on her hands, how could she not be?"

Daria glanced at her palms. "You have good eyes, Mr. Holmes. Shall we get into position?"

Holmes nodded. "Very well. Do be careful, Miss Nelson."

"You too." With that, she left the two humans and slipped down a side corridor. Her position was by a set of what were labeled as 'ceremonial staffs'. She knew them to be, in reality, four staff weapons, nasty devices that fired bolts of deadly energy from their bulbous tips. Jaffa were trained to use them as both distance and melee weapons. From experience, she knew that a blast from one of those weapons could put a good-sized hole in a stone wall.

In the interest of getting the drop on whoever came after the staff weapons, Daria levered herself into a crouching position on top of a tall, sturdy display case. Very few people ever thought to look up for danger, so being above an intruder's line of sight would keep her hidden as well as any other method of concealment. The case creaked a little under her weight as she clambered on top of it, but it seemed to hold without any real difficulty. She drew a short-bladed knife from a sheath hidden inside her left sleeve and settled in to wait. She intended for nothing to get by her tonight.

To her continued dismay, Terref had still not sent her any word of what was going on at his end. Despite her continued attempts to contact him, he remained as hidden to her as the Black Hawks. She was starting to grow worried that something might have happened to the Shadow Agent in the two weeks since she had received his note.

An eternity seemed to pass as she waited, crouched on top of the case like a roosting bird of prey. Several times during her vigil she carefully brushed the minds of Holmes and Watson, trying to get a sense of whether or not anything was going on at their end. It wasn't a very successful attempt- she wasn't one of the True Telepaths, and neither human had any trace of Com-Pathy. All she managed to pick up was a faint sense of boredom from the doctor.

She was about to shift position, her left leg having started to go to sleep, when she heard a faint noise. Someone was walking down her corridor. She heard enough to know that the footsteps didn't belong to either of her companions. The Tau'ka tensed, ready to spring.

A dark-clothed figure turned the corner, passing by the case Daria perched on on their way to the stand of staff weapons. She pounced.

Underneath her, the figure seemed to burst into a thousand scraps of shadow. Daria hit the floor hard, accidentally plunging her knife blade into the wooden floor. The tip pierced the hard wood and sank in several inches.

_An illusion? _she thought, disoriented from her sudden failed attack and the impact against the ground. _Neither of the Hawks can do illusions!_ The Tau'ka had just enough time- and presence of mind- to fling herself into a sideways roll as a thrown dagger flew through the space her head had just occupied. She scrambled to her feet and gestured, plucking the new blade from the air and calling it back to her hand.

Something big slammed into her, knocking her back to the floor and the blade from her hand. She thrashed and twisted under the heavy weight, managing to get a knee up into something soft. Her attacker gasped and struck out blindly. Fingernails clawed at her face, leaving several deep scratches. The wounds were superficial, but stung fiercely.

"Claw me, will you?" she snarled. Reflexively, she shifted, but only partially. The Tau'ka lashed at her attacker with a hand that had been modified to that of a gryphon, with sharp talons. She made contact, and her assailant howled as he rolled off her, one hand pressing against a set of fresh cuts in his upper arm. Daria released the partial shift and scrambled to her feet, reaching up to draw her sword.

Her attacker was male, she could see from the way he moved. He was of compact height and build, dressed in dark trousers and shirt, his face partially hidden by shadow. But what she saw of his face was enough.

"Terref?"

The Shadow Agent's only response was a swift standing kick that landed solidly in her stomach. She dropped her sword and doubled over, wheezing as he attacked again. Daria stumbled back, tripping over her first knife.

"Meddling fool!" Terref hissed in Goa'uld. "You idiot girl, what are you doing here?" He loomed over her like some sort of wrathful god, a second dagger in one hand, blood trickling from the cuts on his arm.

The younger Tau'ka gulped and rolled away, coming back to her feet to get into a ready position. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

He looked at her disdainfully, the light from a streetlight just outside the nearest window glinting coldly off of his topaz eyes. "Doing what the Council won't let us do," he growled. "Claiming our ancient home."

Daria's mind spun. What was he talking about? Why wasn't Terref letting up his attack? "Terref, what are you talking about?"

"The Hawks want this world, Daria Noclaf. They will get it. The humans must die."


	11. Traitor in the Ranks

Nice to see that the reviews are still coming in. Next chapter, with a little more action for those of you who may have been getting bored.

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Chapter Ten: Traitor in the Ranks

"The humans must die."

Daria stared at the elder Tau'ka, her mind refusing to believe what Terref was saying even as his words rang in her ears. But there was no time to think, for Terref was lunging in for the kill. She dodged backwards, twisting away from the point of the knife and coming around in a sharp kick. Her foot struck his side, but he shook it off.

"Sholva!" she yelled. "Traitor!"

"Am I?" Terref said calmly. He parried her attacks neatly. "Daria, do you really believe those old prophecies? You of all people should know that the Tau'ri will never be ready, always squabbling amongst themselves as they are. Haven't you been watching them these past weeks? They will never make it past this stage of petty infighting. If the Goa'uld are to be stopped, then it should be us, their children, to do it. A poetic end to the entire affair, don't you think?"

She redoubled her attack fiercely, striking high and low in an effort to throw the older agent off-balance. Terref was a skilled fighter, tossing in a few tricks even she didn't know. In tandem, the fighting pair moved around the hall. Daria performed a snap-kick, her foot finally connecting solidly with Terref's knee. The joint hyper-extended painfully under the blow, and he yelped. His knife whipped out to score a thin line along her collar bone- far too close for her comfort. She stumbled back against the case holding the staff weapons.

Terref approached, raising the knife above his head for a final blow. She was cornered, and she cursed herself for letting confusion get the better of her. Light from the street lamp glinted off the sharp blade.

There was a crack, like that of a small explosion, and Terref collapsed, the knife slipping from his limp fingers. He was dead, a small hole in the back of his skull marking the mortal wound. Not even a Tau'ka could recover from that sort of injury.

Daria looked up. Sherlock Holmes stood there, his pistol still pointed to where Terref's head had been. He lowered it as Watson came running up behind him.

"You got him!" the doctor cried. "Miss Nelson, are you alright?"

The Tau'ka scooped up the blade that had fallen from Terref's hand and wiped it clean of her blood on the dead alien's shirt. "Not much more than my pride, except for a few scratches. Thank you for your timely arrival, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes shrugged and pocketed his weapon. "We heard the pair of you shouting at one another," he said simply. "Is this one of your Hawks, then?" he added, coming over to poke the dead Shadow Agent's body with a toe.

Daria shook her head. "He was my contact," she said. "Apparently, he was a traitor as well." She went around the hall to collect the discarded weapons.

The detective stooped to pick up her sword. "This is yours, if I recall correctly," he said as he handed it to her. She accepted it and slid the blade back into its sheath.

"Miss Nelson," Watson broke in, "You're bleeding,"

She touched the shallow cut along her collarbone, mentally assessing the damages. "I'll be fine soon." She eyed Terref's corpse with distaste. "Get back to the Abydonan statue. I'll clean up the mess."

"Perhaps I should-" Watson started. Daria raised an eyebrow at the ex-Army doctor.

"Dr. Watson, I have seen and dealt with more than my share of battlefield casualties. I can take care of… this. In the meantime, the other target is unguarded and open for the taking. Now please, go."

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Holmes waited until the young woman was out of earshot before speaking. "A most unusual young woman, our Miss Nelson," he said to Watson as they made their way back to their post. "I do wonder how she will explain the death of her 'uncle'."

"Her uncle?" Watson said with a frown. "What do you mean?"

Holmes looked at him in surprise. "Surely you must have seen it, Watson." At the doctor's blank look, he continued. "The man we just saw trying to attack Miss Nelson was her contact- she told us as much herself. Who else could her contact be but the man she claimed was her uncle, Terrence Nelson?"

"The man you just killed."

"Unfortunately, yes." The detective adjusted his signature deerstalker cap. "I believe there is something more going on here than simple terrorists, Watson. What kind of organization would send such an unusual woman out on this kind of assignment?"

"One that has all of its male agents working on other cases?" Watson hazarded.

"Did you not just see Miss Nelson?" Holmes replied sharply. "No, she was not a last resort. Her superiors meant to send her here."

Holmes paused suddenly as they rounded the corner. Before them was the display containing the Abydonan sculpture.

The sculpture was gone.

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Daria, having disposed of the late Terref Nielsaan by weighting his corpse and dropping it in the Thames, went to check in with her companions. Approaching the exhibit they had been guarding, she swore fiercely upon seeing the sculpture's empty case.

Watson looked over at her in shock. "Miss Nelson, really!" he protested.

She stalked forward. "At this point I don't really care about propriety, Doctor Watson. What happened here?"

Holmes glanced up from his investigation. "Please come no closer, Miss Nelson," he said from where he was on his hands and knees on the floor. "It is vital that you do not disturb anything."

She cursed again. "The Hawks must have come while you two were over at my position," she said angrily. "_Mai'tac_…"

"You are well-traveled," Holmes said dryly, returning his attention to the floor. "Whoever took the sculpture was clever," he added. "The lock does not appear to be forced, and the case has been closed after the removal of the statue- ah-ha!" Pulling a small pair of tweezers from the pocket of his coat, he held up a small clod of dirt. "Our culprits were recently near Tottenham Court Station- see the peculiar color of the earth?"

"But that means they could have come from anywhere," Daria pointed out.

"Unfortunately, you are correct, Miss. Nelson," Holmes said, getting to his feet. "But we can start there."

She shook her head. "The Hawks- well, let's just say that they are very good at making sure they are not recognized."

Holmes didn't say anything, as his attention was firmly fixed upon the floor. "They came from the direction opposite of which Watson and I went to go to your rescue."

"I was handling it!"

"Of course you were, my dear," the detective said off-handedly.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. Now was not the time to point out that she could have choked the breath out of Terref if she'd been given the opportunity- a little trick she'd learned from Vader. Now was not the time to point out that if Holmes hadn't shot Terref, they would have had a live prisoner to interrogate rather than a body to dump in the Thames. Now was not the time to point out that she now had to explain to the Tau'ka Head of Intelligence why her Terran contact was dead. Daria sighed and rubbed her temples. This was not going well.

Now was not the time to point out that little factoid, either.

"What is so important about the statue, Miss Nelson?" Watson inquired.

"It's supposed to be a device of ancient power," she replied, deliberately keeping her explanation vague. "The hieroglyphics on it stated that it was used as some sort of protective talisman, or shield." In actuality, the 'statue' was a middle-class shield generator, the kind that could be used to defend a bomber or smallish gunship. The technology was antiquated, for sure, but it would still perform well enough to baffle any weaponry the Tau'ri could bring to bear against it, despite the fact that it was about nine thousand years old. The Goa'uld built things to last. "The Hawks are obsessed with Ancient Egypt. I supposed they believe that the statue will protect them if it does come to war. Some sort of psychosomatic or placebo effect."

Watson looked at her quizzically. "Some sort of- what?"

"Things seem to have an effect if you believe in them strongly enough," Daria explained. "Like a lucky charm- if you believe in it, you tend to notice the things that go your way more strongly than misfortunes. You attribute your perceived good luck to the lucky charm."

"I see," the doctor said slowly. "That does make sense."

"It certainly explains the popularity of such objects," Holmes put in. He dusted off his hands. "There is nothing more I can ascertain from this evidence at the moment," he said. "Shall we check on the ceremonial staves on our way out?"

They did so, and all three were relieved to see that the ancient weapons were still in their place.


	12. The Gryphon in Winter

As requested by the readers, here is an update. I must apologize, there isn't a whole lot of action in this story. The next two will have more, I promise.

AN: The plot for the next few chapters is taken from "The Final Problem", although the dates have been fudged. I am aware of the time discrepency, and I just ask for no flames or flying fruit. I don't own Holmes or Moriarty or Watson. I'm just borrowing them and I promise to return them in the same condition they were in before. I don't own Professor Higgins either. Daria, the Tau'ka, and the Hawks are mine.

Read on, my freaky darlings.

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Chapter Eleven: The Gryphon in Winter

The winter of 1898 passed, in most respects, like any other winter for the greater number of London's residents. They went about their daily lives- they went to work, to church, children played in the snow, politicians argued with one another. The sole Tau'ka among their number went about her work, becoming more frustrated by the day.

It wasn't merely the icy weather that put her in such a mood- although she was not overly fond of the cold. Nights and early mornings found Daria Noclaf huddled under an immense pile of blankets with only the tip of her narrow-bladed nose showing under the covers, while the jokingly-called 'daylight hours' prompted her to wear as many layers as possible to keep away the chill. More and more often she daydreamed about Verris- a hot, dry world with none of London's creeping dampness.

Her superiors had received the report of Terref's betrayal and subsequent death with an ill humor. Master Agent Felis, head of the Tau'ka Intelligence forces, spent hours cross-examining her agent on Earth in an effort to determine what might have caused Terref to join forces with the Hawks. Daria eventually managed to convince her commander that she had had no idea why events had turned out as they had.

Even after the Council was satisfied (somewhat), Daria still had to deal with the supposed disappearance of Terrence Nelson. With the help of Holmes and Watson, she eventually concocted a story that society at large seemed to accept. Terrence Nelson, it was said, had suddenly decided to take a tour of the Continent. She had even managed to forge several documents to that effect that were accepted as genuine by some rather nosy London police.

In addition to dealing with her superiors, the weather- which had turned from merely icy to snowy about six weeks after the mishap at the Museum- and the police, Daria was still hunting the Hawks. She spent a great deal of her nighttime hours- when she wasn't cursing the cold from under a mountain of blankets- in one disguise or another, seeking information in London's many pubs and taverns. Any information she gathered was compiled with what Holmes himself was learning, despite Watson's continued protests. Together, they were beginning to form a picture of Moriarty's crime web, and the secondary web that was growing alongside it. This smaller web was attributed to the Hawks, although Moriarty's hand was, as the detective put it 'leaving its fingerprints all over it'.

More than a few evenings had passed with the two humans and Daria- disguised as a male client and called 'Darian' in lieu of her other alibi- cloistered in the rooms of 221B Baker Street. There they put together the information that had been collected- at least Daria and Holmes did. Watson was usually involved in some writing project or another on these occasions, leaving his companions to their work. An odd camaraderie had sprung up between the three- the Tau'ka found herself accepted- albeit somewhat distantly- by Holmes as a fellow investigator of sorts, one more competent than the Scotland Yard investigators. Neither pretended that she was anywhere near Holmes's caliber, but she wasn't entirely useless. She rather liked the change. Watson, as usual, wasn't entirely thrilled with the arrangement, but fortunately held his tongue. He was simply pleased that the double case was occupying his friend to the point that Holmes was not falling into any of his lethargic black moods.

Despite the efforts of Holmes and Daria, the Hawks continued to be annoyingly elusive. Only the barest traces of them could be found, no matter where the Tau'ka searched. The few traces they did find linked the aliens even more closely to Moriarty than ever before, and even indicated that Moriarty might now be occasionally moving on the orders of the Hawks.

"A most unusual reversal of roles," Holmes said when they'd reached that conclusion. "Were the evidence not before me, I would never have conjectured such an occurrence."

Holmes began preparing a trap for Moriarty's criminal ring intending to catch all of the major players in one fell coup. He carefully laid it out over the course of the winter with a delicate efficiency that made Daria practically green with envy at his talent. Master Agent Felis could learn a thing or two from Sherlock Holmes.

So passed the winter of 1898, and the first month of 1899. Events began to pick up late in February.

Watson looked up from his desk as Sherlock Holmes walked into his consulting room one evening, looking paler and thinner than usual. With scarcely a word to his friend, the detective edged his way around the walls, flung the shutters together, and bolted them securely.

"You are afraid of something?" Watson asked.

Holmes flung himself into an armchair. "Well," he said at last, "I am."

"Of what?"

"An air gun."

Watson blinked at this incongruous statement. "My dear Holmes, what do you mean?"

The detective smiled. "The air gun is no airy nothing in the hands of Colonel Sebastian Moran. But tell me, is Mrs. Watson in?"

Watson shook his head. "She is away upon a visit," he said. "I am quite alone."

"Then it makes it easier for me to propose that you should come away with me on a visit to the Continent."

"What are you talking about?"

At that moment there was a knock at the door of the practice. Holmes, who had been slumping in his borrowed armchair, started in what could only be described as panic and scrambled over the side in an attempt to conceal his lanky frame behind it.

"Watson," he hissed from his woefully inadequate cover, "I am not here."

Watson raised an eyebrow at his friend's antics and went to open the door. Miss Nelson stood there, looking a little frazzled.

"May I come in, Doctor Watson?" she asked. "Mr. Holmes sent a telegram saying he wished me to meet the pair of you here."

Watson glanced over at the place where Holmes had been trying to hide. He wasn't now; instead the detective stood and began brushing off his coat. "Very well, Miss Nelson," he said, feeling very much as if matters had been taken out of his hands. "Please, come in."

She nodded and walked in, looking rather cross. The doctor noticed. "My dear, is there something wrong?"

"She has just recently escaped a harrowing and unwelcoming conversation," Holmes put in, straightening his deerstalker cap.

Miss Nelson nodded again and tugged off her gloves. "Correct as usual, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I was on my way to meet both of you when I stopped to have a conversation with a friend of mine. When I left her, I found myself being followed by a gentleman carrying a pad of paper and a pen. I stopped him and asked why he was following me. He said that he was, and I quote, 'trying to place that most unusual accent' of mine." She made a most unladylike noise of derision.

"Where are you from, Miss Nelson?" Watson asked. It had become something of a game between the two of them, with Watson asking her of her place of origin at random intervals in an attempt to startle her into actually revealing it.

The young woman smiled ironically. "Now is not the time, Dr. Watson," she said.

Holmes smiled as well. "I see you have had the fortune to run across Professor Higgins," he said. "He's harmless enough, even if he is obsessed with those phonetics of his. I have made use of his expertise myself on occasion."

"I see," she replied. "Well, I managed to lose him without too much difficulty and then I finished making my way here. And, out of curiosity, Mr. Holmes, what were you doing on the floor behind the armchair?"

"Nothing whatsoever." Holmes cleared his throat. "Now that you are here, Miss Nelson-"

"Yes, Holmes, what are you doing here?" Watson added, looking from his friend to Miss Nelson and back again.

The detective looked grave. "You know how Miss Nelson and I have been working to capture Moriarty and his criminal gang." When Watson nodded, he continued. "In three days, matters will be ripe, and the professor, with all the principal members of his gang, should be in the hands of the police. Then will come the greatest criminal trial of the century, the clearing up of over forty mysteries, and the rope for all of them- but if we move prematurely, you understand, they may slip out of our hands at the last moment. Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge of Professor Moriarty, all would have been well. But he was far too wily for that. He saw every step which I took to draw my toils around him. Again and again he strove to break away, but as often I headed him off. I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account of that silent contest could be written, it would take its place as the most brilliant piece of thrust-and-parry work in the history of detection. Never have I risen to such a height, and never have I been so hard-pressed by an opponent. He cut deep, and yet I just undercut him. This morning the last steps were taken, and only three days were wanted to complete the business. I was sitting in my room thinking the manner over, when the door opened and Professor Moriarty stood before me, flanked by two others. From the descriptions you have given me, Miss Nelson, I knew at once that his companions were the Black Hawks that you are seeking."

Miss Nelson clenched her jaw. "How arrogant of them to show up like that," she growled.

"Moriarty and I spoke. He tried to persuade me to stop, and naturally I refused. Since I left to come here tonight, I have been attacked three times."

"What?" Watson exclaimed. "Holmes, you must do something!" Holmes held for silence.

"I have already. The police can do nothing- Moriarty has covered his tracks too well, as I knew he would."

"You must spend the night here," Watson said firmly.

Holmes shook his head. "No, my friend," he said, "You would find me a dangerous guest. I have my plans laid, and all will be well. Matters have gone so far now that they can move without my help as far as the arrest goes. It is obvious, therefore, that I cannot do better than to get away for the few days which remain before the police are at liberty to act. It would be a great pleasure to me, therefore, if you would come to the Continent with me."

Watson nodded. "I have a neighbor doctor who will be happy to take care of my practice for a week or so," he said. "I would be happy to come."

"What of me?" Miss Nelson inquired. "Surely I cannot go haring off to the Continent as well?"

Holmes shook his head. "Certainly not," he said. "I needed to inform you that I would be disappearing for a while, and of this latest Hawk sighting, as you put it."

She frowned. "I see. Well then, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, I wish you well in your excursion. The young woman stood, gave the two men a small curtsy, then went for the door.

"Be careful," Holmes said. "Moriarty may not hesitate to attack you, despite the fact that you are a woman."

Miss Nelson smiled grimly. "I'm afraid it's not the Professor that I am worried about."


	13. Fast Trains and Felines

AN: I'm pleased with the feedback this has gotten. Thanks for staying with me, guys!

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Chapter Twelve: Fast Trains and Felines

Daria had no intention of staying in London while the Hawks were working so closely with Moriarty. Where they went, she went, so she would follow Holmes and Watson. In the hallway outside of Watson's office, she shifted into the shape of the tabby cat and sat unobtrusively outside the door, listening as they laid out their plans. Holmes instructed his friend to employ a series of elaborate ruses before arriving at the Victoria Station to take a nine-thirty train. Daria listened, then vowed to conceal herself- somehow- in the second carriage from the front.

She told her staff that she had to take an unexpected trip the next day. After packing her gear- the essentials, along with all of her advanced equipment- into a pair of bags, she left for Victoria Station the next morning. Being slightly paranoid, she made sure to pay for the ticket in cash, and under an assumed name. However, she didn't intend on sitting in the seat she'd paid for.

The Tau'ka waited until the corridor was clear of people for a moment before once again adopting the shape of the tabby cat and slipping into the second carriage right behind Watson's feet. While the doctor and his assigned travel companion- a decrepit-looking old priest- weren't looking, she concealed herself underneath the seat and settled herself to await Holmes's arrival.

With a series of loud noises, porters walked up and down the length of the train, slamming the doors shut. The whistle had been blown and the train begun to move before either man spoke. To her surprise-

"My dear Watson," said a voice that she recognized, "you have not even condescended to say good morning to me."

From her position beneath the seat, Daria could just see the way the old priest shifted his posture and expression, revealing- for just a moment- the features of Sherlock Holmes. A split second later, Holmes was gone, replaced once again by the priest.

"Good heavens!" Watson cried in astonishment, "How you startled me!"

She was thoroughly impressed. Once again, Holmes showed why he was the best in his field.

"Every precaution is still necessary," the detective whispered. "I have reason to think that they are hot upon our trail. Ah, there is Moriarty himself!"

She couldn't see where he indicated, but Daria had to assume that the mastermind had been spotted as he approached the departing train too late to catch his elusive and slippery adversary.

Holmes smiled. "With all our precautions, you see that we have cut it rather fine," he said, laughing, as he rose and removed the black cassock and hat which had formed his costume. Kneeling, he went to tuck his bundle into a handbag that had been stashed below Watson's seat. He paused upon seeing Daria.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" he said.

"Holmes?" Watson inquired. "What is it?"

_Crap!_ Daria thought.

"Mrow?" she said.

"A cat," Holmes said. "It somehow managed to stow itself away beneath your seat. How very curious."

Watson leaned over to look as well, eyes widened in surprise. "A cat?"

Daria flattened herself against the wall of the carriage, ears flattened to her skull. She glared at the two men and reached out to brush their minds, projecting an idea without using words.

_You do not want to touch the pretty kitty._

It wasn't like the infamous Jedi Mind Trick that Vader was known to use on occasion, per se. Holmes and Watson were not about to go blank-faced and repeat 'I do not want to touch the pretty kitty' in dead monotones. It was more of a subliminal suggestion. She just hoped it would work. Subliminal messages were not her strong suit.

Holmes frowned, his dark brows knitting together. "She isn't doing any harm down there, Watson. Let her be."

Watson straightened in his seat. "'She', Holmes?"

"A creature of that grace must belong to the fair sex, my friend." He stood and sat back in his own seat on the other side of the carriage. "Have you seen the morning paper?"

"No."

"They set fire to our rooms in Baker Street last night. No great harm was done."

"Holmes, this is intolerable!" Watson exclaimed. Daria privately agreed, but thought she recognized the touch of the Black Hawks in the arson- the older twin, Koor, had a little bit of pyrokinesis, the ability to create fire, although it was secondary to his power of willful invisibility. The other twin, K'Wah, was a shapeshifter like Daria herself, and both of the twins were Communications-Telepaths as well.

Holmes went on to say that Moriarty must have lost track of him when he had foiled the professor's assassination attempts the night before and asked Watson if he was certain that he had not made any slip in coming. Watson argued that his arrival had been to the letter of his friend's instructions. As the train moved on, they discussed further plans and eventually decided to change their itinerary and make their way into Switzerland at a leisurely pace

The two men, discreetly followed by the still cat-shaped Daria, got off the train at Canterbury station. Three days of travel eventually brought the three of them to Strasbourg. There, Holmes telegraphed the London police. Their reply prompted a bitter curse from him as he threw the paper onto the grate.

"I might have known it," he groaned. "He has escaped!"

"Moriarty?"

_No,_ Daria thought sarcastically. _The dancing bear at the zoo._ She twitched her tail as she watched the telegram burst into flame. Holmes and Watson had become resigned to their extra traveling companion when they found her sequestered under Holmes's seat on the train from Canterbury to Brussels. When the two men had made that discovery, they'd looked from her to each other in amazement.

"I think she likes you, Holmes," Watson had said, trying to hold back a laugh. Daria had simply purred entreatingly up at them, although she had refused to come out from under the chair. Holmes himself had made no comment, but had taken to laying out his coat in a small bundle for use as a cat bed whenever they stopped for the night.

Now the detective groaned again. "Yes, Moriarty," he said. "He has given them the slip. They have secured the whole gang with the exception of him- and the Hawks." With those last words, he glanced directly at Daria. She blinked in surprise, then did what any cat would do.

She licked her forepaw and washed her face. All the while, she wondered again just what Sherlock Holmes really knew.


	14. Death of a Detective

AN: Hey guys. I'm going to be really evil and leave you with a cliffie for the weekend. Sorry its kind of short. ducks flying fruit and rotten veggies Thanks for your continuing support and reviews. You guys are awesome. Now, without further ado...

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Chapter Thirteen: Death of a Detective

For a week Holmes and Watson wandered up the Valley of the Rhône, through the Gemmi Pass, and eventually to a small village called Meiringen, always followed at a discrete distance by the little tabby cat with the glittering eyes.

Daria reflected briefly on the never-ending teasing she would receive if anyone back at the Verris base knew she was following a pair of humans around- and male ones at that- and laughed to herself. It wasn't exactly by the book, but Holmes had been of too much help for her to let him run off and get himself killed- she owed him that much. Moriarty had proved himself to be just as dangerous as Koor and K'Wah.

Following in cat shape wasn't always feasible during their travel. On those occasions, she adopted the form of the pharaoh eagle-owl in order to tail the pair at a greater distance. If either man noticed a large bird following them whenever 'their' cat wasn't in sight, well, they gave no sign of it.

The detour Holmes and Watson made to Reichenbach Falls was one such occasion.

The Falls were a remarkable sight, Daria thought as she took up a position on the cliff overlooking a narrow, winding trail that led to the great waterfall itself. Water sprayed up as it tumbled down the cliff, making the path slick with moisture and forcing the two men to take great care with their footing. She craned her neck, trying to see into the depths of the chasm that the water plunged into. It was too deep for her to see the bottom from her current position, but the water roared as it fell into the depths. The roar also covered most of the sounds that Holmes and Watson were making as they climbed up to the observation ledge. The Tau'ka sighed mentally and shifted again, this time becoming the bronze gryphon in order to take advantage of a gryphon's sharper ears.

Flattening herself to the ground, she crawled on her belly to the edge of the cliff and cautiously peered over the edge. She settled herself in time to here Watson speak.

"This is a fearful place," he said, looking at the long sweep of water roaring down, and at the curtain of spray it kicked up as it did so.

"The path ends here," Holmes replied. "Let us return as we came."

Daria felt a little disappointed. They had climbed all that way, to a spot nearly two hours' hike from the village, just to turn around? She ruffled her feathers, feeling cheated.

Holmes and Watson had turned to leave when a boy, about twelve or so, came running along the path with a letter in his hand. Panting, he handed it to Watson.

"What is it?" she heard Holmes ask.

"An English lady at the hotel," the doctor answered. "She has been taken with a sudden hemorrhage, and wishes to see an English doctor."

"You must return to Meiringen," his friend said. "I will walk over the hill to Rosenlaui, where you can rejoin me this evening." He sat with his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the rush of water below him.

Watson and nodded and left. Daria raised her head slightly. She had a bad feeling about this. It was too neat, too… coincidental. What, exactly, where the odds of an English woman falling ill at the Swiss hotel where Holmes and Watson were saying? The two men hadn't exactly been broadcasting the fact that Watson was a doctor, although they hadn't been trying particularly hard to conceal it either. And why was Holmes, previously so paranoid about staying under the radar that it had nearly bordered on psychotic, allowing Watson to go off on a trip that would leave each man alone for four hours or more? There was something wrong here.

All of Daria's instincts were screaming at her now, and they were screaming one word.

Trap.

She forced herself to remain still. If there was a trap to be sprung, it would be best for her to remain where she was, motionless, an unknown and unexpected variable.

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It didn't take long for the trap to be sprung. Less than half an hour after Watson left to attend to the alleged "hemorrhaging English lady", a new figure came striding up the path at a quick walk. Daria looked the newcomer over. He was tall, and thin like Holmes, with cold gray eyes, dressed in black. Out of some overstated need for drama, he wore a red-lined black cloak that flapped dramatically in the wind

"Good afternoon, Sherlock Holmes," he said. He positioned himself directly in the path that led downslope as Holmes looked up at him. "A somber spot. A fitting spot for our last meeting."

Holmes said nothing. Unseen up on the cliff, Daria bristled, not liking where the conversation was going. She didn't immediately recognize the stranger, but something in his stance told her that he was all bad news.

"You are not an easy man to trace," the man continued idly. "You must admit that having traced you is a tribute to the efficiency of my organization."

"An organization now ended," Holmes said at last, setting aside the alpenstock walking stick he carried with him. Daria didn't like his casual attitude. Then the comment about an 'organization' sunk in fully.

"Ended, temporarily, in England, perhaps," Professor James Moriarty said. "Thanks to your impertinent interference, Holmes. But here on the Continent I still have friends and valued allies. I shall perhaps remain here for a while. And then I shall return to a London made healthier by your absence."

The professor made a slow step forward.

Holmes sighed. "I may leave a note for my friend?" he asked.

Moriarty paused, then after a moment he nodded his agreement. "But make it, if you please, a short note, Mr. Holmes."

As Daria watched, Holmes tore a few sheets from his notebook and spent a few minutes writing a letter. She was at the wrong angle to see what it said, but presently the detective folded the papers, tucked them under a silver cigarette case on top of a rock that jutted into the path, then walked to the edge of the path. He turned to face Moriarty.

"Well, here we are then," Moriarty said, facing his nemesis. His red-lined black cape flapped dramatically in the cold, wet breezes from the waterfall.

Holmes nodded in agreement. "Indeed. As closing acts go, I'll allow the scenery is more than adequate."

"Why, sir, it is Olympian! We tread the very borders of mythology!"

"I think you flatter the both of us." Holmes shrugged. "You wouldn't happen to have any friends you would like to leave notes for, would you?" he inquired.

Moriarty stared at him, then laughed uproariously. "Friends?" he exclaimed. "Mr. Holmes, I think you need to get your head out of the clouds."

"Not even the Black Hawks?"

Moriarty stopped laughing abruptly. "I see you have learned about them," he said coldly. "From whom, exactly? Your little waifs on the streets of London, perhaps?"

Holmes smiled slowly. "No," he said. "One could say that… a little bird told me. A little owl, to be precise."

Daria frowned, convinced she could not have heard correctly.

The professor scoffed. "You must be touched, Holmes. Now you claim to be getting your information from birds!"

"Why don't you take the news of a pharaoh eagle-owl back to the Hawks, Professor? I'm sure they'd be thrilled to hear about it."

"The Hawks are a means to an end. Nothing more. They plan to assist me in certain… upcoming ventures."

"What is it that you want so badly?"

Moriarty's lips stretched in a thin, tight smile. "The world, my dear Mr. Holmes. I want the world."

Holmes did not seem to be impressed by the display. As usual, he cut to the chase. "I'm tired with talk, Professor. So, then. To the death?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, absolutely."

As Daria watched in horror, Moriarty launched himself at his nemesis, drawing a gold-plated dagger from a pocket in his cloak. They struggled, Holmes doing fairly well for himself even without the aid of a weapon. He'd once mentioned that he'd done some boxing in school.

The struggle was nothing like a similar fight would be among the Tau'ka. There were none of the lightning-quick punches, kicks, and strategic blocks that would be used among Daria's people. Instead, Holmes and Moriarty shoved against one another, feet scrambling for purchase on the slick stone as they fought for control of the dagger. And they were quiet- no furious yells punctuated the duel for supremacy. Time seemed to slow for their onlooker as they battled.

Then Holmes managed to get a grip on Moriarty's wrist and shoved harder. The criminal mastermind had his back to the falls as Holmes pushed him back.

Moriarty's foot slipped. He stumbled. Holmes pushed harder.

The two men fell over the edge of Reichenbach Falls.

Daria's world slowed further.

"No!"


	15. Rel'Tor'Ke, Mr Holmes

AN: If I delay any longer the natives might get restless. I'm not thrilled with the way this chapter came out, but oh well. My beta didn't exactly have the best advice either. Please keep the reviews coming!

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Chapter Fourteen: Rel'Tor'Ke, Sherlock Holmes.

Daria was in motion before she was even aware of moving. She was in the air and diving into the chasm before Holmes and Moriarty had disappeared below the edge of the path, a shrill shriek escaping her beak.

Impaired as her vision was by the spray thrown up by the Falls, she had to spend a precious moment looking for Holmes. The detective's distinctive coat caught her eye, prompting her to course-correct and angle slightly to her right. Daria drew even with him.

She snatched him from the air, one taloned hand gripping around Holmes's upper arm, her other arm catching him under the torso. Daria unfurled her wings with a snap and her burden grunted as he was suddenly hauled into a vector drastically different from the one he'd just been traveling. He wriggled slightly in her grip, apparently surprised at being plucked out of the air.

"Ssstop sssquirming!" Daria hissed curtly, now making for the cliff she'd used for her earlier vigil. "Unlessss you really _want_ me to drop you!"

Holmes obediently went limp, giving her a chance to get a more secure grip on him.

The Tau'ka was panting by the time she managed to get back to the top of the cliff. Holmes was heavier than he looked. She dropped him the short way to the ground and backwinged to a landing, her wings kicking up a small storm of dust and dead leaves.

He scrambled to his feet, looking somewhat shaken as he brushed the airborne dirt from his jacket. "Well, I must say that I am glad you repay your debts so promptly, Miss Nelson."

Without missing a beat, she replied, "You'rre welcome, Mrr. Holmess. I am imprressed." One ear twitched idly. "May I assk what gave me away?"

"It was not as simple as most deductions I usually face," the detective admitted. "But the fact that lately I seem to be constantly followed by creatures with the same color eyes as your own was a deciding factor. But I have said it before, 'when all other possibilities have been eliminated, what remains, however improbable, must be the truth."" He shrugged. "I must admit that I am curious as to how you pull off that rather unique trick of yours."

She shrugged her wings. "Verry carefully." The Council would not be thrilled with her, but with someone as perceptive as Sherlock Holmes, keeping something secret was a rather moot point. The man was frighteningly intelligent.

_And it never hurts for a human to take a Tau'ka down a notch or two. Shows we aren't perfect, and that helps keep us on our toes._

"And the comment about the pharraoh eagle-owl?" she asked.

"You left a feather behind when you borrowed that file."

"Ah."

A moment of silence.

"Thank you, Miss Nelson."

Now both ears pricked forward as thoughts came together in her mind.. "You had that planned," she accused. "That entire confrrontation with Morriarrty."

Holmes nodded. "Although I had not planned to make a trip over the side of the cliff. But it is just as well that everyone will believe I am dead. It will make the rest of my job far easier."

Daria stared at him, not certain she had heard correctly. She blinked slowly. "You are going to make everyone think you are dead," she said.

"Yes."

"Even yourrr besst frriend."

"You seem to be catching on, Miss Nelson." Holmes's tone was a bit acidic. "Unfortunately, the deception is necessary. Watson is quite unable to keep a secret of this magnitude." The detective sighed. "Should the remains of Moriarty's organization get wind of the fact that I still live, all of my work will come to nothing. If Watson remains in the dark, he can spread word of my demise. Those I am after will grow careless in my supposed 'absence'."

Daria clenched her talons, digging gouges into the dirt. Professionally, she couldn't fault Holmes's logic. She knew the value of misinformation, and had used such tactics before. But she wasn't comfortable with the idea of lying to one's closest friend.

_Vader would know if I were dead,_ she thought.

"Watsson iss a poorr actorr," she agreed reluctantly.

"And I can count on you to be discreet?"

The Tau'ka simply gave him a Look. Holmes smiled, unphazed by the predatory stare. "Of course, you _are_ a spy."

"Yourr ssecret iss ssafe with me."

For a moment, Daria thought she heard noises over the roar of the Falls. She turned her head in the direction of the chasm, listening hard. Had those been voices?

_No_, she thought. _Just the ambient sounds of Earth's countryside that I'm not used to._

"Problem, Miss Nelson?"

She shook her head, the fading light reflecting off the metallic stripes in her crest. "What do you plan to do now?"

"I plan to go to Rosenlaui and begin my hunt, Miss Nelson. That is all you need to know."

The tone of Holmes's retort stung a little, but Daria shrugged it off. "Verry well then. _Rel'tor'ke,_ Mister Holmes." She turned to leave, but paused at the edge of the cliff. "And if you happen to come across the Black Hawks before I do-" She grinned fiercely. "Tell them that Darria Noclaf is coming for them."

The gryfalcon took to the sky.


	16. An Extraordinary Invitation

AN: Hey look! It's the League! (sorta…)

Thanks to **Luli27 **and **Skunk and Hedgehog** for reviewing. Thanks for sticking with me, guys. You so totally rock.

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Chapter Fifteen: An Extraordinary Invitation

"Mai'tac, mai'tac, _mai'tac!_" Daria swore as she swung the door to her room shut behind her, a bit harder than she had intended. It had been nearly four months since she had left Holmes to his own investigations at Reichenbach Falls, and the month called June was coming on wet and rainy, like May had been, and April before that. Since her return from Switzerland, she'd had no word of her objective, no _hint_ to the doings of the Black Hawks. Between that, her superiors' growing discontent, the constant rain, and the London police sniffing around in their continued search for her 'uncle', Daria had had a very bad time of it.

She had just come from another session of prodding her contacts for information and, once again, absolutely nothing had come of it. No wonder she was experiencing such mounting frustration

"Mai'tac!" she growled again. There was a tinkling sound behind her, causing her to reign in her temper quickly. She turned to look towards the source of the noise. Her telekinetic powers had just broken another of the obnoxious little china figures on the mantle.

There were other issues, besides the disappearance of the Hawks. Random acts of terrorism were breaking out across Europe. Two months ago, soldiers in a group of heavily armored metal transports had staged an attack on the old Bank of England, making away with thousands of pounds worth of gold, valuables, and documents. The papers had reported that the soldiers were German, but it seemed that Germany itself flatly denied ordering the attack. In addition, not four weeks after that, a division of British soldiers had attack a zeppelin production factory in Germany, but Her Majesty's government denied ordering _that_ attack. Other attacks had been reported in other European countries, each seeking to lay the blame for their grievances at the feet of another. The confusion was muddying the waters beyond all hope of sorting things out, and the single good bit of information she'd been able to turn up in weeks was that it would only take a tiny spark to set off a world war.

Daria rested her forehead on the cool glass of the window. There was nothing in her collected information about the attacks that even hinted at the presence of the Hawks, who had long been known for their distinctive style. Their methods involved attacks of opportunity on particularly vulnerable targets- schools, training facilities, medical establishments, or government buildings. They weren't known for targeting economic targets, not right off the bat. They preferred to stir up the terror that hitting traditionally 'off-limits' sites generated first, then they would go in to destroy economic bases in order to damage governments, limit military action, and start riots. The pressures from both inside and out would cause an ill-prepared civilization to collapse within months.

No, what she was seeing was not the Hawks' style at all. And since the Hawks didn't seem to be involved, she was about ready to call it quits. Daria wanted to go home, to see her friends (few though they might be) and her own people. Most of all, she never wanted to see a corset again.

_If the Hawks have any sense, they'll have left too,_ she thought bitterly.

"Miss?"

Daria whirled, but it was only Danielle, the maidservant, looking apprehensive. Over the past several months, Daria's staff had become somewhat used to her displays of temper. The fact that she had not dismissed a single one of them and arranged for generous bonuses every time there was rainfall for more than three days straight had earned her their gratitude. But none of the people working for her were stupid. They had figured out that disturbing Mistress Nelson in one of her tempers ways a quick way to a grilling.

The Tau'ka composed herself. "Yes? What is it, Danielle?"

The girl shifted nervously. "There's a gentleman in the front hall, Miss. He says he wants to speak with you, if you have the time."

Daria frowned. "A gentleman? Did he give you his name?"

"He says his name is Reed, Miss."

She didn't know that name, but she supposed it wouldn't hurt to meet this gentleman. "Very well then," she said. "Have Ana Lee make up some tea if you would be so kind."

"And some of those cress sandwiches you like so much?"

"If she has any made up. Then kindly let Mr. Reed know that I will be down momentarily."

Danielle curtsied and left the room. The Tau'ka waited until she had left before gesturing. The shards of china from the unfortunate porcelain figure flew from where they lay and into the trash bin.

Reed turned out to be a pallid young man dressed in a crisp black suit, with short ginger hair that matched his goatee. Daria scrutinized him closely. His manner of dress and the way he stood put him firmly in the 'bureaucrat, clerk, or some other form of paperpusher' category.

She waved her odd visitor into a seat in the parlor. "May I help you, Mister…?" she trailed off tactfully.

"My name is Sanderson Reed," he said, his words clipped and precise. His rather colorless eyes flicked towards Danielle as she brought in the requested tray of tea and cress sandwiches. Reed's gaze was watchful, but stern. He didn't speak further until the maidservant had left and Daria had begun to pour the tea herself.

"I am a representative of Her Majesty's British Government," Reed said without preamble.

Daria frowned slightly. "What does the Government want with me?" she asked in an innocent tone as she took a sip of her tea.

"Your help, Miss Noclaf."

She choked as Reed addressed her by her real name. "Excuse me?" she said coldly, dropping all pretense of civility. The pallid paperpusher looked altogether too pleased with himself.

"Oh, we know all about you, my dear. There is another of your kind who is in contact with my superior. I was told to give you this message. 'Tek-ma-tet, Konack'ashe Dhar'ya N'claf.'" He pronounced the Goa'uld words carefully to avoid tripping over them

Daria's eyes narrowed. 'Tek-ma-tet' was a formal greeting, used to greet one who was superior to the speaker, and 'Dhar'ya N'claf' was the Goa'uld pronunciation of her own name. It was the term 'Konack'ashe' that finally made her relax slightly. It meant, loosely, 'special agent' and was only used among the Tau'ka- specifically, among the Tau'ka's Intelligence branch. The message was, as far as she could tell, legitimate. She folded her arms over her chest.

"Fine. What do you want me for?"

Reed smiled. "While I did not understand the meaning of the message, apparently you did. Good. As I understand it, you have been keeping abreast of recent events." He waited for her curt nod before continuing. "Then you know what the situation is. Nations are striking at nations- the entire Continent is a powder keg just waiting to go up in a tremendous explosion."

"This still doesn't explain why you want to pull me from my assignment, Reed."

"We, that is, my superiors, want you to join a team of unique individuals put together to combat this threat. I was also told to give you this." Reed pulled a sheet of paper from the small briefcase he carried.

Daria examined it. It wasn't a sheet of paper, she realized. It was a photograph. The setting was dimly lit, but the figure closest to the camera could be made out. The man's features were familiar, and light glinted off his eyes in a way that was only too distinctive. Abruptly she handed the picture back to Reed.

"I'm in," she told the bureaucrat.

He smiled, pleased. "Good. Do you know where the Albion Museum is? On Tottenham Road?"

She nodded.

"Good," Reed said. "Be there at four o'clock in the afternoon in two days time. Wear whatever you feel comfortable in."


	17. Thieves, Pirates, and M

AN: Much ongoing thanks to **Luli27** and **Skunk and Hedgehog** for reviews. It is a bittersweet moment as I present to you the final chapter of "A New Hand for a New Century: Queen of Spades. Please enjoy. I love my reviewers.

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Chapter Sixteen: Thieves, Pirates, and M

Daria followed Reed down a long flight of stone steps that led into the underbelly of the Museum. She shivered slightly, uncomfortable with the closeness of the stone walls that closed in around her.

"How much further?" she asked. Reed didn't answer until they had turned one more corner.

"We're here," he said, gesturing for her to precede him into an opulent meeting room.

The Tau'ka looked around. Bookshelves and paintings lined the walls, all highly decorated, and a long table surrounded by chairs dominated the room. At the head of the table sat a thin, almost cadaverous-looking man wearing a black suit, who tapped what appeared to be a playing card against the edge of the table. She squinted at the card, finally making out the image of a joker printed on its face.

The man stood.

"Welcome, Miss Noclaf, to the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen," he said.

Daria frowned as she set the sheathed broadsword she carried on the table. "The League of… what?"

He smiled. "Extraordinary Gentlemen, my dear. At other times in Earth's history, there have been occasions that required the attention of groups of very singular men- and women."

"And you would be?"

Her host walked slowly around the table with a stride that suggested arrogance to her trained eye. "That is an interesting question, Miss Noclaf. I go by many names. My underlings call me Sir. My superiors call me M."

Her frown deepened. "Em?" She had never come across anyone on Earth referring to themselves by a single letter before.

M leaned casually against the table. "I understand that you go by many names as well, Miss Noclaf. Maria Nelson, for one. Oh, don't be surprised- I've heard all about you from another of your people. All good- you are remarkably accomplished for a Tau'ka your age." He gestured towards a side chamber. "It is time for you to meet your teammates- the ones who are already here, that is."

From the side chamber stepped a middle-aged man with dark skin, eyes, and a remarkable black beard. He stood an inch or two shorter than she, but made up for the height with the blue turban wrapped around his head. Daria noted his movement and stance, the semi-militaristic blue-and-silver tunic, and the sword- saber, really- strapped to his belt. Those features all told her that this man was a fighter. There was something in his eyes, too- a gleam of intelligence that was almost frightening. This man was smart, as well as a warrior. A dangerous combination, in her book. While he didn't seem particularly unfriendly, she doubted he would be the sort to go out of his way to make friends.

_Sort of reminds me of Vader in that respect- the distant, battle-scarred warrior type,_ she thought._ Actually, if I didn't know he was an only child from Tatooine, I'd say these two were related. Hm, maybe they are- in spirit._

"Miss Daria Noclaf, Captain Nemo," M said by way of introduction. Nemo inclined his head gravely, and Daria responded with a short bow, one of the greater shows of respect her people employed.

"An honor, sir," she said politely. Then she swore fiercely as something _touched_ her from behind. Daria pivoted on the spot and froze for a second, seeing nothing.

A soft chuckle floated from nowhere. Daria turned her head, searching for the source of the laughter with her peripheral vision. Willful invisibility occasionally showed up among the Tau'ka, and those employing it could sometimes be detected as a faint blur in the air, like a heat haze.

She finally distinguished a slightly fuzzy, moving patch in the air and reached for it. Her hand closed around the figure's bare arm and twisted upward, prompting its owner to yelp.

"Oi!" a voice accented like a street child's yelped, though her captive was no child. "Easy there!"

"You ever do that again, and I'll break your arm," Daria growled. "Do you hear me?"

"Okay! Okay!"

She released him with a look of disgust and glared at M, who seemed to be doing his best to contain his mirth as Nemo looked on with a raised eyebrow. "Another one of your 'extraordinary gentlemen?" she snarled.

M straightened and cleared his throat. "Yes, indeed."

"Then clearly the 'gentleman' part is optional."

"You're wrong there, luv," the invisible man chimed in. "'Ere, shall I introduce myself? Rodney Skinner, gen'lman thief."

Daria raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I didn't realize theft was considered an honorable occupation around here,"

"Course it is!" Skinner replied jovially. "It's one of the oldest occupations there is!"

"That does not make it an honorable one," Nemo said. Daria noted that he had a deep, grave-sounding voice.

"Gentlemen, Miss Nelson," M cut in. "Please-"

He trailed off suddenly and glanced at the door. Daria had already heard the twin sets of footsteps that were now coming down the stone steps. M smiled. "Ah, I see that another one of the League members approaches. If you will excuse me?" He went back into the main room and went around its perimeter, carefully turning down all of the gas lamps. Once all of the lights were dimmed, M returned to his chair at the head of the table.

Then the door opened, and an older man stepped in. He looked around at the dark room and frowned.

"I don't much like theatrics."

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_And this is where "A New Hand for a New Century: Queen of Spades" leaves off. Special Agent Daria Noclaf's adventures with the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen continue in "A New Hand for a New Century: An Eight-Card Deck"._

Mischief managed, my freaky darlings. Stick around for the sequel, coming soon to an LXG fanfic archive near you.


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